Said the Spider to the Fly
by Dannemund
Summary: Clara isn't smart―not at all. So when she leaves the Vault, she tries her best, but there's only so much she can do... and to make matters worse, she falls in love with one of the worst men in the wasteland. Rated M for language, sexual content, and Mr. Burke.
1. Parent-Teacher Night

Note: Ya'll, I've written some pretty heinous shit on here so far, but this one genuinely makes me feel bad. The husband says Clara is essentially Sloth from The Goonies, but I'm hopeful she comes across a little less... deficit. This one starts out with Brotch because I had to illustrate my conception what of a 1 in intelligence gets you. (Side note, husband says he'll never have less than a 5 ever again because that's what Butch has)

As always, warning about general sexual content. Don't know how far it will get but we will see. The wasteland is not for innocents.

* * *

The dreaded time had come. It was _Parent-Teacher Night._

Edwin Brotch looked at his scheduled visit and groaned in disappointment. Tonight was James and his daughter. Why couldn't it be Pepper Gomez again?

Edwin wasn't looking forward to hearing the Vault doctor blather on about the efficacy of his teaching. He wasn't stupid, but James made him feel that way with his vocabulary that rivaled a dictionary. No denying, the man was smarter than him.

And he certainly wasn't looking forward to hearing James ask why the Vault 101 educational system wasn't holding to a higher standard of testing; it had been a source of contention between the men since the introduction of Clara to his classroom. Everything Edwin did was not good enough for James' girl. Not strict enough, not challenging enough, not _intelligent_ enough.

It was hardly Edwin's fault. He could only apply his own spin on the preset Vault material and hope it sunk into the brains of those hormone-laden Neanderthals he was teaching. And Clara... was one of the _worst_ students he'd ever produced. He'd spent the last thirteen years teaching the girl not to poke herself in the eye with the sharp end of the pencil, for _God's_ sake. Teaching Clara was like trying to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. Even James had admitted, in couched terms, that the girl was dumber than a box of hammers. She had heart, but no brains.

Still, Edwin enjoyed having her in his classroom. Definitely liked her more than Butch DeLoria. Clara had defended her teacher against the Tunnel Snakes on occasion, when the gang members acted out in class or when they were simply being annoying in the hallways. Clara defended _everyone_ from the Tunnel Snakes. She was a good kid, she just... had more spirit than smarts.

And she _tried._ She tried so hard to be good at her studies, she frustrated herself into tears. Seeing Clara sitting at the front of the class... "That is where the smart girls sit," her father had told her, on her first day of school.

Edwin felt so bad for the girl, he could barely bring himself to fail her. She _was_ failing. Her grades didn't actually say so; he'd fudged the work for her, on occasion. To keep her from falling. The storm of tears she was bound to cry when she didn't graduate with Amata―the girl she idolized because she was so smart, because was what Clara wanted to be, _smart_ ―made him feel like a pile of shit for not knowing how to educate the poor girl. Even _Amata_ had trouble helping her to understand, though Clara loved the Overseer's daughter all the same.

And he didn't like that the Overseer had asked him to pity-pass her and place the girl somewhere she wouldn't harm herself or others. It left him with very little option as to how he could grade her when she finally took the G.O.A.T.―and that day was approaching fast.

It was with heavy footsteps that Edwin walked to the doctor's quarters. Because the class was so small, he had decided he would visit each student and their family in their living quarters. It was enjoyable for him, spending an evening discussing the teenagers with their parents in a relaxed setting. He found it was easier to talk to some of the kids and parents when they were on their home turf, as well, rather than in the imposing confines of the classroom.

Ellen DeLoria and Butch aside, he'd had little problems with the others. But Ellen didn't care, and Butch was beyond help. _His_ grades were better than Clara's, at least. Edwin sighed to himself, thinking about it. And Ellen wouldn't fight him like James would.

This night, he expected to be met with less relaxing discussion and more argument. It wouldn't be easy to escape the fight; Clara had a solid D-average and she had not improved that score in five years, only gotten worse. His own false bumps to her grade... James was not going to want to believe that it was his daughter who was the problem.

Edwin paused before he knocked on the door to the doctor's quarters, finalizing his defense against attack. He would offer James a compromise, perhaps some one-on-one lessons with the girl. It would be easy to make such a promise... but he would contrive a reason for why he couldn't keep it, after the fact. There was nothing more he felt he could do to help Clara understand. It was simply too _late_ to help her.

Nothing more he could do, other than finally pound the knowledge into the doctor's head that his daughter was a damn _moron._

Edwin sighed and knocked on the door for a full five minutes before he realized no one was going to answer it. This wasn't uncommon; sometimes it was hard to hear what was going on over the banging pipes on the walls. Stanley was constantly fixing the things, but his attentiveness was limited to guaranteeing functionality, not reducing noise level.

Edwin touched the door release and was surprised to find it slid open easily. It wasn't locked. He stepped inside.

"Is that you, Dad―" Clara said, as she came out of the bedroom in the back of the quarters. She had a tissue clutched in one hand, tears on her face already, and was red-eyed and stressed-looking. This wasn't all that unusual. But, more unusually, she'd put on a nice dress and it accented her only _true_ gift rather impressively―something he'd noticed before, but put out of mind. He paused, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of this well-endowed, brown-haired beauty before him. Trying to impress him, probably. It didn't work as she intended, he was sure.

Clara's dark blue eyes caught the light of the hallway as they widened and she burst into tears. She brought the already-sopping tissue to her face and cried into it noisily. "I'm _sorry,"_ she muffled. "I'm _so_ sorry, Mr. Brotch."

He closed the door behind him before moving into the room and assessing the situation. Clearly James was _not_ here; she would not assume that he was her dad if he wasn't. And it was upsetting her, though why he couldn't precisely place. ...Unless James had forgotten that tonight was Parent-Teacher Night.

Edwin sighed. It had happened once before, the year before last, that James forgotten to be at home during the assigned night for his discussion with him. When Clara had just entered "high school" and was having a hell of a time adjusting to the upgraded educational materials. Thank goodness Amata had been able to help her scrape through the mess, then. Edwin hadn't managed to schedule a second visit to the quarters that year; hadn't bothered once Clara seemed to be doing a half-way job at staying afloat. And James had forgotten _completely,_ wrapped up in his work in the clinic.

"Your father forgot again, didn't he?" he asked the girl, lamely.

She nodded and cried harder into the tissue, blubbering. "I―" She sucked snot up into her nose. "I re―reminded him―" Another sob and a hiccup. _"Twice."_

Edwin watched her hair floating around her head and gave a patient sigh. "I'll come back another time, then," he said, turning sideways toward the door.

 _"Please!"_ she cried, and strode forward. He grimaced in disgust as she mashed the used tissue into his hands as she grabbed them. Clara didn't _think_ about things. She just _did_ them, and she did them enthusiastically. A slimy feeling traveled up his wrist and arm. _"Don't go―"_ She sniffled. "I want to t-talk," she stuttered out. "About school."

Edwin raised both eyebrows and removed his hand from hers, gingerly wiping it on his leg. "Dare I ask, what you want to discuss?"

Clara hiccuped again and showed him to the table, set for three. Food was sitting nearby; she had expected her father to show and there was enough food for more than three people. Clara was capable of putting back a decent amount herself, he knew. She had brawn, but she wasn't overly big, just muscled. Her arms as she doled out a soup of some kind into his bowl were softly defined. _Short and stout, like the teapot rhyme,_ he thought to himself. _And about the same level of thought to her._

She sat and put her hands in her lap, looking down through tears. "I'm... I'm not _good_ with words," she said. "Not with numbers, neither. Never been good at science or figuring out what―" She hiccuped again. _"Whatever_ social studies are for."

"I am not here to make you feel stupid, Clara," he answered, which was the only thing he could say that wasn't an agreement to her statement.

"I..." She sighed and wrung the tissue in her hands. "I just... I want to do _better,_ but I'm just no good."

"How do you suppose we fix that, then?" Edwin asked, testing the soup. He was hungry. Seemed like a waste of good food to let it go uneaten.

"Dad said I need to listen better," she muttered. "I'm _trying,_ too. Feels like it... goes right outta me, when I hear it."

"Your hearing isn't a problem," he told her, once he'd swallowed. "I think you have trouble grasping concepts."

She stared at him, blankly. "I don't..." Her eyes started tearing up again.

"The ideas, Clara," he clarified. "You don't get the ideas, so it doesn't make sense?"

She flushed, her face turning red, and nodded in relief. "Yes."

Edwin gestured at her bowl. "Eat first," he said. "We'll talk about it, after."

She really did know how to put back an insane amount of food. If Edwin Brotch was a betting man, and less conscientious about his reputation, he might joke that it was all going to her chest. He focused himself and finished eating in silence, the only interruption an occasional hiccup as Clara finished. She probably hiccuped a lot, if she ate so fast on a regular basis. Once he'd filled his stomach, he took up his clipboard and located Clara's grades.

It was a lot more relaxing than he'd thought, without the doctor around to stir the muck. The living quarters hadn't changed much in the last year, other than the introduction of a teddy bear up on a high shelf near the bedroom door. His eyes drifted over the open door and he frowned.

"Clara, where do you sleep?" he asked, out of curiosity. There was only one bed in the tiny room beyond the door. She jerked a thumb back at the bedroom. "Where does your father sleep, then?" he asked, carefully.

She slurped her soup too fast and coughed, smacking her chest in agitation. He averted his eyes politely as she jiggled with the motion. "Clinic," she sputtered out.

The doctor did not share the living quarters? Edwin looked around at the room. Everything in it, beyond the sterile environment provided by Vault-Tec standards, had been put into place by a sixteen-year-old girl. It was obvious that her personality was in the room.

"Why?" he asked, confused. James might be smart but leaving a sixteen-year-old to herself... permanently? How could he parent her if he was not around? _He can't._

"Last year after Parent-Teacher Night he said it was time for me to be on my own," she mumbled, around her spoon. "And he moved into the clinic."

"You've been living here _alone_ for an entire year?" Clara nodded. She didn't seem upset by it. Edwin frowned. "How did you remind him about tonight, then?"

"Visited clinic," she said. "Twice."

Edwin stared at her. She seemed calmer now, but that could well be an illusion. He sighed to himself. _"Honestly,_ Clara... it feels like your dad has been trying to distance himself from you for a while," he said. "Like your birthday party. He didn't even show up at the cafeteria when Amata baked that cake for you. What is going on between you two?"

Clara swallowed hard, placing her spoon gently into the bowl of soup, and pushed it away. She had no expression on her face when she turned to face him, until his furrowed brow drew another batch of tears from her eyes.

"I don't _know,_ Mr. Brotch," she said, and dissolved into a mess of brown hair and pink cotton.


	2. The Bad Thing

When Clara got out of the classroom that afternoon, the first thing she did was walk with Amata to her quarters. Amata and she had spent many a time in the now-private quarters, blabbering on about anything and everything. But today, Amata couldn't stay and she wasn't going to let Clara walk her home when Clara had to prepare for Parent-Teacher Night. Amata was _smart,_ and Clara listened to her.

Never mind that Clara had to dash out to the clinic again anyway, and leave a note with Jonas reminding her father. Jonas was always super nice to her. She liked him even when his eyes dipped below her chin; Amata had explained that boys would _always_ be that way. Even as grown-ups. "Not everyone is as... _blessed,_ as you are," Amata told her. "Maybe you can use that."

So when she got home she grabbed up the dress she'd found, tucked away in a drawer under her father's left-behind things, and bathed. The dress didn't fit her as well as she'd hoped, but she stuffed herself into it anyway. It was too tight in the chest and she felt embarrassed. It had made a good impression, though. She could see it in Mr. Brotch's eyes, like she saw it in Jonas' eyes.

Sitting at the table with Mr. Brotch, and feeling nervous, she was super glad when he told her to eat. Her stomach was all nerves and having food in it would make her feel better. But when he began asking questions about her father not living in the quarters with her... She'd gone back to her number-one plan and cried.

She'd cried _hard,_ too. She'd cried so hard that Mr. Brotch had gotten on the intercom and called up Amata and ordered her to come down and see to Clara. When Amata showed up, she was still crying.

And she'd wanted to make Mr. Brotch think she was a _real_ grown-up, too―

Because otherwise, she was going to be stuck working in the laundry her entire life, and she didn't _want_ to do that. She _knew_ she was dumb. Laundry was where the dumb people went. She couldn't even be trusted around a frying pan, and she would never be smart enough to work with Stanley. Even if she tried her best, she was too dumb to understand half of what he had to do on a daily basis. But she didn't want to launder clothes for _the rest of her life._

She didn't know what was going on with her dad. He'd moved almost all of his things out of the quarters and told her she would do better without him. Said she was all but grown-up, and that she could work on her schoolwork in peace without him around. And told her that she was ready for it, because in a few years she would be old enough to start her own family.

With a pinch of her cheek and a peck on the forehead, he'd told her he wanted to see that happen. Even her dad knew she needed someone to keep her. "Some people are made to be married," he'd said.

The whole thing embarrassed and frustrated her. What else could she do but cry?

Mr. Brotch left her to Amata, taking his clipboard with her terrible grades on it and leaving. Amata held her for a long time before Clara managed to stop herself from crying. She stroked Clara's hair and told her it was okay, that they would figure it out, that she would always be there for her. They weren't going anywhere, and Amata had her back.

But it wasn't okay. Clara didn't know why but something was wrong and she knew it was her. It was _always_ her.

* * *

Six months passed and Clara took the G.O.A.T., ending up in the laundry like she'd thought. She didn't cry nearly as much as she felt like doing, about the matter. Couldn't change it now and she was tired of crying. Amata tried to get her to see the good side of it―"You'll always smell clean," she'd said, "which is more than I can say for _some_ people around here."

It was true that smells traveled in the Vault. Clara had noticed a weird smell in the classroom and hadn't been able to figure out who was making it until she handed in her test to Mr. Brotch. He smelled... good. Like... some dirt smell. Like the hydroponics lab, when she walked past the open door. He smelled nice, and Clara liked it. He didn't smell like Amata―she smelled like the perfume her father had given her, even if she barely used it. Some of the other boys in class smelled like cigarettes or beer. Even Butch, who smelled like water up close, still had that booze smell to his clothes.

Clara had done "bad things" with him, that was how she knew what Butch smelled like up close. She hadn't _meant_ to. It just sort of... _happened._

One night, when she was alone in her quarters and Amata was busy with something, she'd found herself so bored she wanted to do _anything_ else but sit around. She'd walked around the Vault for a while, poking her head into the public rooms and trying to find someone to spend time with. As she sometimes did, she went to the cafeteria.

After dinner, the only thing anyone could get from the cafeteria was water and some leftovers reduced in ration card price. Clara was sitting at the booth and chewing a nail, trying to decide if she was still hungry enough to pack away―and could afford to buy―another serving of "meatloaf" when Butch sauntered in alone and pissed-looking.

"The hell you lookin' at, nosebleed?" he'd asked her as he sat down, and she'd jumped out of her skin. She hadn't even seen him come in, and all of a sudden he was beside her and pulling the Tuesday menu card out of her hands.

 _"I'm―I―"_ she stammered, her face red in embarrassment. "I was thinking about food," she said.

"You're always eatin'," he said, turning the menu upside down and throwing it away from them. It slid across the table and down under the other side of the booth, and Clara went to grab it. If she lost it―she would get chewed out. She couldn't afford to get into trouble, she was already on her dad's bad list for not doing better for herself in school.

"Why are you always eatin', nosebleed? Ain't you afraid of gettin' _fat?"_

She leaned under the table to grab at the laminated card. Butch ran a hand across her hip and grabbed at her behind. It startled her so badly she'd jerked upright and banged her head off the underside of the table, and forgot all about the menu.

"Hell, doesn't seem like it _hurts_ you none," he said, sneering.

 _"What―"_ she'd said, jerking herself upright and scooting down the booth seat away from him. "What are you _doing?"_

"Pssh. Knew you were dumb, but _Jesus,_ Clara." He moved closer and put an arm around her shoulders, and leaned into her. She smelled the booze on his breath and crinkled her nose. "I'm just looking for a little _touch,_ is all," he said, and put his lips on her neck.

She should have pulled away and pushed him off, she was strong enough to keep him from doing anything. But... it felt _weird._ Clara had never actually been kissed before. She was surprised, too, that Butch even _wanted_ to touch her.

The boys were all a little scared of her, ever since she was a little girl. Amata said it was because she was stronger than them. Clara didn't want to be stronger. She wanted to be _smarter._

His mouth on her skin started feeling super _good,_ and she'd moaned out loud. It surprised her even more, the pleasant feeling and her reaction to it. But not Butch, he was never surprised.

He'd chuckled into her neck and laid his hand on her chest, touching her through her clothes. The roughness only made it feel better, and she'd pushed into him. That was when he'd kissed her on the mouth, and she felt his tongue running along her teeth, and she'd wanted to do more but not in public. It felt wrong in public.

She'd taken him home to her empty quarters, and the night had ended with her on her knees and Butch telling her she was such a good girl. She did what he told her to because she didn't know what to do on her own. It felt wonderful to be wanted, and she'd told him so over and and over. Butch told her to shut up and enjoy herself.

After, she was a little ashamed of it. She'd acted so _weird..._ and he'd told her she couldn't tell anyone or he wouldn't touch her anymore. Told her she was his little secret. That she belonged with him. It made Clara feel all bothered inside. It was a good feeling.

She did what he asked. She didn't even tell Amata, and she told her everything. She liked having a secret. It made her feel smart.

* * *

Clara had been messing with Butch for three months when they graduated from Mr. Brotch's class. He said he'd go "all the way" with her on graduation day, but... There was so much partying going on, so many new work schedules, there wasn't any _time._ Between Clara and Amata and Butch and the Tunnel Snakes, all the other students doing new jobs...

She had to wait two weeks after to even get any word from him. He said he'd drop by when he got a chance. That was all. He must have been super busy with his hairdresser job. Clara was happy for him. He seemed to like his new job, even if he'd been pissed about it before.

Mr. Brotch told her he wanted to come by and bring her a nice dinner to share. She wasn't sure what to make of that, but her dad said it was okay, she was eighteen now and she'd probably get dinner from a lot of people. He told her to be _careful,_ was all, and went off to do his thing in the clinic. Left her alone again, although that didn't bother her much anymore.

She was confused about the careful part until Amata explained she shouldn't be having "relations" with a man until she was married. It wasn't something Amata had discussed with her, before. Her dad hadn't even talked to her about it. It was something she had known was bad to do, though. Butch had explained why they couldn't "go all the way" until after graduation.

Clara went as red as an alarm light, remembering Butch. She hoped Amata would think it was just nerves, not that she thought Clara was doing something like that. It was her _secret_ to keep with Butch.

Jonas asked her to dinner too but she had to tell him that she was expecting a dinner from Mr. Brotch first, and he looked terribly sad. Clara didn't want to see him be sad. She offered to bring him dinner at his place anyway, to make up for it, but Jonas was very firm that she let him know how things went with Mr. Brotch first.

Clara said she would. And she went home to get dressed. She knew Mr. Brotch had liked the dress from before, so she wore that. She even borrowed a little perfume from Amata, who brought it over after work and helped her get pretty.

"You look gorgeous," Amata told her.

"Do I really?" Clara looked down at her chest, stuffed into the top of the dress, and heaved a frustrated sigh.

"Yeah, no. Don't do _that,"_ Amata said, waving her hands around. "Just... be pretty. Wish I knew why Brotch wants to date you, but, _well..."_ She sighed and scratched her head, staring at Clara's chest. "I think I have a good idea _why._ Seriously, though, _don't_ kiss him. Not even on the cheek, Clara."

She solemnly swore up and down that she wouldn't do anything of the sort. Amata told her she was a good girl, and stuck around until the "big date" began, and Mr. Brotch was in her quarters. She waved goodbye cheerfully, shooting Clara a warning look, and suddenly she was alone with her former teacher on her very first date.

To say she was nervous was a lie. She was terrified.


	3. A Lesson To Learn

Butch was walking down the hall at nine o'clock, finally off the clock. He was tired as all hell, his hands banged up from snipping his own fingers by accident. The boys had been by to get on him about his stupid job and he'd had none of _that_ shit, kicked their asses out of his work space and told them they'd better get used to looking like a goddamn shag rug. He sure as _hell_ wasn't doing no hair on someone what was gonna get on him like _that._

Shit, Wally had just laughed in his face, threw up a middle finger and stalked off. _Cocksure bastards, all of 'em._ When he got a day off, he was gonna have to go kick their asses. Show them who was still the leader of the Tunnel Snakes.

He needed to unwind, anyway. Wanted to get drunk but it wasn't an option. Without his mom's ration card to use... _shit._ She'd told him she wasn't letting him get their food no more, because she'd figured out his game. His buying "extra" booze for her was why she'd had to be sober when he did the last run―she hadn't entirely drunk herself stupid, yet.

Butch kicked a mop as he walked by it and heard Stanley complaining. He grinned and shoved his hands into his pockets, and kept walking. Wasn't the same kind of rush as getting drunk, but _was_ fun.

Hell, he oughta stop by and see how Clara was doing. She'd been stuck in the laundry for about two and a half weeks, now. He didn't feel guilty for letting her alone for so long, she'd freaking wait _forever_ for him. She said as much, before. She was _gonna_ be waiting forever, because he sure as hell wasn't gonna marry the stupid broad. He did that, he was signing his own death sentence, 'cause then she'd want to go and have babies and stupid shit like that. Wasn't something he wanted to do, he was a free man and he wanted to stay that way.

Butch grinned to himself. She was dumb enough, she'd probably believe him if he told her there was a _different_ way to "go all the way". She'd been so riled up the last time they'd messed around... he felt excited, now. Yeah, she'd been begging him for more, for the last month. Maybe he'd show her just how _much_ more she would get, hah!

But first he'd go home and hit the showers. One of the worst things about working as a barber was all the damn hair you got in your clothing. Made him itchy as hell.

* * *

It was almost ten by the time he made it over to see her. Butch opened Clara's door without thinking about anything other than her tits, and how good they'd feel when he was squeezing 'em. Two sets of eyes were immediately on him and he blinked in surprise.

 _Goddamn―_ the stupid bitch was eating dinner with another ma _―Brotch the Crotch_ was with _his_ dame! What the _fuck―!_

Clara, messing around on him. She was dolled up like a tart, those enormous tits of hers out on display. Made his blood boil, thinking about the Crotch looking at his girl.

Butch wasn't stupid. He knew when to put on a show, when to keep shit hidden. He smacked himself in the face and turned around, groaning about trying to find the fuckin' doctor and couldn't find him nowhere, and left her quarters. Walked back down the hall a bit and tucked himself into a corner he'd been in a couple times, waiting for stupid Amata to leave Clara alone so he could sneak in. This wasn't no different, but if she didn't get that asshole out of her place he was gonna have to teach her a _lesson._

Ten minutes passed and she hadn't gotten rid of the Crotch. Butch was beyond pissed at this point. He wasn't sticking around waiting for her all night, she would get what was coming to her some _other_ day. Some other day when he was off and had all afternoon to show her... Maybe he'd spank her ass and show her what happened when she played around on him. That was pretty _hot,_ now that he thought about it.

 _Hell,_ though, if the Crotch got to her first... there were other girls he could be making out with, if he really wanted to. Not many that would let him do it twice, maybe, but _still―_

Huh, that'd show _her._ Poor little Clara having to watch him with some other girl like he was just now watching her with another man. She'd throw a fit, probably. And after he would show her just what she _needed_ to know; tell her just what she _wanted_ to hear. Even if he didn't mean it, she'd believe him. _God,_ she was dumb.

Butch grinned to himself, meanly. It was gonna be a lot of fun.

* * *

First thing he did the next day was track down Christine Kendall and get a little bit of touch from her. She musta missed him bad, because the minute he draped his arm 'round her neck she was on him like jelly on a sandwich. Damn near sucked the teeth outta his head.

It felt good, getting what he wanted. Maybe he'd get him a stable of ladies, let Paul and Wally to rot in their fancy-ass jobs while he pulled down all the pussy. They'd never get his women. Even Clara, if she knew what was good for her, wouldn't be complaining. He'd treat them all right. There was more than enough Butch to go around.

He needed to talk to Clara, and soon. As soon as he got off work that night he went right to her rooms and opened the door, walking in like he owned the place. She'd left the damn door open like the idiot she was.

No one was there. Clara must be out with Amata or some shit; she wouldn't be on a second date with the Crotch so soon after the first. Even the Crotch wasn't _that_ dumb.

So Butch went and sat in her bedroom and closed the door so she wouldn't know he was there. He'd scare the shit outta her and then make her beg for him to forgive her, and tell her just what _he_ thought about her little "date" with the Crotch. Maybe he would spank her. She'd probably like it, she was freaky like that.

It was midnight before she was back, laughing loudly as the door slid open. He heard her coming and laid himself on her bed, casual-like, flipping through a copy of Grognak the Barbarian. It was the only comic she'd ever read, she told him. _Pretty pathetic._

Heard her say goodnight to someone and move through the living room. Butch didn't even look up when she opened her bedroom door and jerked in fright at the sight of him.

"Did you _enjoy_ yourself with the Crotch?" he asked, casually.

"Butch―" she started, then fell to her knees, her hands at her heart. _"I―"_

"I hope you had fun," he said, flipping the comic closed. "Because you ain't gonna _like_ this next part." She stared up at him, dumbly. "I told you, nosebleed... you're _my_ secret." He looked over at her, sat up, and moved off of the bed. "No one else is _allowed_ to touch you, you dig?"

She gaped at him as silent fat tears rolled down her face. "It wasn't like that," she mumbled, her voice small and scared.

"I'm _sure,"_ he said, then hauled her up by the shoulder and spanked her right on the ass. No warning, just smacked her through the fabric of the Vault jumpsuit.

Clara jumped into the air with a yelp and started crying noisily. "Butch," she moaned, "I didn't _want_ to―"

"Doesn't matter, babe," he said, raising his hand again. "It happened, and now you gotta take your lumps."

"Please," she whined. _"Please,_ Butch, I'll do what you say! Just _tell me what to do!"_ Her face was a mess of tears and brown hair plastered to her cheeks now. He didn't like that kind of begging. He paused, staring down at her. She heaved a couple of sobs and he rolled his eyes.

"I don't think I believe you―" he started, and that was when Amata opened the door. She was laughing and holding a container of food, and walked over to the table to put it down. She did't even notice them at first.

Butch froze. Clara could hear her behind them and craned her neck around to look. Her tear-filled eyes were the first thing Amata saw―and then she saw Butch's hand upraised and ready to strike.

"Oh, _fuck_ me," he muttered, dropping Clara and stomping toward the door. Clara cried even harder as she hit the ground and Amata's voice rang out in the hallway after him.

"What _the hell, Butch?!"_

* * *

He didn't see Clara for a long time after that. Months, even. No one said a word to him about that night, but he could feel Amata staring at him and he _knew_ she knew. Clara had told her about what they'd done. He just _knew_ it.

Wasn't like he could get back into her quarters, either. Clara was being followed around by Officer Gomez, when she left her quarters in the evening. During the day she was at work in the laundry and Butch was at his work too, so he couldn't dash out to see her. Not that he would. He didn't need the dumb broad. If she wanted him she could come back, begging.

He figured she was more work than she was worth, especially when Christine would polish his knob all the same. Butch shrugged and went on with his daily routine. Wasn't anything else to do.

The last time he talked to her was when the radroaches were infesting the Vault again and they'd gotten into his quarters―his mom was being attacked by the goddamn filthy things, and he couldn't do a damn thing. He was scared _shitless_ by the fuckin' bugs.

Fuckin' _embarrassing,_ really. The whole thing.

When he found Clara walking about looking confused and angry in the hallway, he demanded she help. She was strong, she wasn't afraid of the bugs. Her face went soft at his words, and she marched right into the DeLoria quarters. Took a baseball bat into the bedroom and smashed all the bugs into pieces.

"You saved my mom!" he told her, relieved.

She gave him a big stupid smile and hugged him. "I _always_ do what you tell me to, Butch," she said, happily. She held onto him just a little too long, like she needed the touch.

Man... he ought to have treated her better. He felt guilty, his chest hurt a little, and that was a bad sign. "Clara..." he said, his chin bobbing up and down. He didn't know what to say―she was so dumb, she didn't understand. She still―she still _liked_ him, even after he'd beaten her up a couple times and spanked her ass.

Clara looked up at the alarm lights, the klaxon going off. Her mouth opened in confusion and she made a sad noise. "I gotta go," she said. "My dad is gone, I got to _go―"_

"Yeah, _I got_ _it._ Here, babe," he said, and handed her his jacket. "You've always been the best to me." He tried to be casual about it. Didn't know if it worked. But Clara never judged.

Her big dumb eyes on his, filling up with tears, he knew she was remembering what they'd had and what had happened so many months ago. She sniffled a little, took the jacket. Immediately put it on, she always was nice like that. Butch hated to see her acting so confused. Made his chest tighten up even more.

He was confused now, too. Thought he wouldn't mind if she was gone, after that spanking thing and him almost getting into trouble, but now he didn't want to let her go.

"I'm gonna go outside," she told him, in a whisper. "I'll come back. Don't _worry,_ Butch."

As he watched the dumb broad leaving her couldn't help but to wonder if she would even make it ten feet out of the Vault. Wondered if he'd ever see her again.

 _Nah..._ probably wouldn't. Butch shrugged, put her out of his mind as best he could, and beat feet back to his room. He locked the door behind them, watching out for more radroaches.


	4. A Good Girl

Clara was confused. She felt like the whole world was more weird than it had ever been before, and she was stuck right in the middle of it all.

Amata woke her up and told her what had happened―and Clara had cried hard when she found out Jonas was dead. She made her way out of her room with a baseball bat for protection, because Amata tried to give her a gun and she didn't even want to touch it. Clara accidentally killed a security officer, because he was trying to hurt her and she just wanted him to stop. She'd _never_ killed anyone before. She was upset and angry and very worried about what was going on. It wasn't right.

After she left Butch she moved through the Vault and killed all the radroaches she could find. Amata said she had to get out, go outside, find her dad. But she wasn't gonna leave with all the bugs running around. Butch didn't like them. He'd given her his jacket, his Tunnel Snakes jacket, because she'd helped him. It was the first gift he'd ever given her, and it made her feel better about what she'd had to do.

Clara felt bad about having to kill the security officer and she didn't know how to make up for it. Didn't know how to make it better. She wanted to make Butch feel better, too. She missed having him around, missed being touched by him. Didn't know why he'd stopped talking to her after he spanked her. Amata said she shouldn't let him get near her, at all. But Clara _loved_ Butch... she didn't want to leave him behind.

She cried soundlessly as she walked through the Vault, looking for the way out. The worst part of trying to leave was that people were fighting her and she had to hit them―had to make sure they wouldn't hurt _her―_

Amata and her dad were talking in the security office, and Officer Mack died. Clara stopped herself from hurting the Overseer, Amata would be upset if she killed him. He told her she was being bad and that she should turn herself in. She thought about it for a moment, and he asked her to hand over her weapons.

It felt like the right thing to do... but The Overseer called for security and he started to fight her, _too._

Clara ran. She ran past Jonas' body and through the door to the Overseer's office, and she couldn't figure out the computer. The Overseer was coming after her with her baseball bat and she shrieked, typed in the first thing that came to mind―Amata's name―and opened the door that Amata had told her to open. She fled downstairs and out of the tunnel.

She didn't stop running until she was outside and put her feet down on the ground, and then she fell to her knees and stared out at the world. It was so much different from the Vault―she sat and she cried, and she saw all the damage. She'd been told the world was in ruins, but she'd never _believed..._ She could see a big heap of what looked like scrap metal, with a robot and people walking around it. Maybe someone would be able to help her, there.

Clara walked without feeling her feet hitting the ground. Where had her dad gone? Where was she going? She hoped she would find him _soon―_

* * *

The sheriff in the scrap metal town was nice. Clara really liked him. He was patient and he didn't treat her meanly; he said something about the bomb in the town being active, wanting to disarm it. Clara didn't know what it meant. Maybe if she helped him, he could help her?

But he didn't know where her dad was, so she went where he suggested she should. Up to a saloon, where she met some people who were jerks. Except for Gob; Clara liked him and felt bad for him, he looked so terrible on the outside but he was super nice. He helped her get some glass out of her hands when she tripped and fell onto it. He didn't yell at her when she broke the glasses, either.

She spoke to Moriarty, the man who owned the place. He took her back into his office and explained to her that she hadn't been born in the Vault―she didn't believe him, but he said he knew where her dad had gone, so she tried to pretend that she believed. He wanted money. She didn't have any money.

He told her to go and talk to a woman that owed money, and he would tell her where he dad went. She sat down at the bar while Gob helped her get the glass out of her hands and asked where she could find the woman. Gob couldn't help her―he was scared of Moriarty, she could tell. She spent so much time being scared. She felt sad for Gob.

"Just head west toward the school," he told her, under his breath.

"She lives in a school?" Clara asked.

"No," Gob said. "Silver probably went that way, though."

"That's a pretty name, Silver," Clara said, wiping her hand on her pants.

"Nnnnngh," Gob replied, and Moriarty started yelling at him again. Clara decided she didn't much like Moriarty.

While she was in the bar, some guy named Jericho tried to put his hands on her. She was too upset to care at first, but then she remembered Butch saying she belonged with him and she didn't want to chance him being mad at her again. Clara punched Jericho in the face without thinking. He fell down and he didn't get back up and she was worried that she'd killed him―

But Gob smiled about it, and told her not to worry. Clara wondered if sometimes it was okay to hurt people, even though she'd been told it wasn't okay so many times.

* * *

The Tunnel Snakes jacket was warm under the high sun as Clara looked at a small house outside of a school. She chewed on her thumb and checked her Pip-Boy again. The woman should be here. Clara knocked on the door and opened it to find a blonde-haired woman who was surprised to see her.

"Moriarty told me that you owe him," Clara said.

"Owe _him_ some caps? He's a liar! He just wants you to kill me! Those caps are mine, fair and square." Silver crossed her arms and scoffed at her. "You must be dumb as hell to believe him."

Clara didn't like that. She frowned at the woman. "You give me that money, or I'm gonna have to be mean," she told her.

"Oh, yeah?" Silver snorted. "I ain't scared of _you."_

Clara stared at her, then lifted a hand to grab her. She didn't even have to touch her. Silver said she'd give her the money if she didn't hurt her. It was pretty easy, really. Except she didn't have the whole amount, so she gave Clara some stuff she called psycho and told her she ought to try it―showed her how to use it, when Clara didn't know what she meant. Said it would make her tougher, stronger, faster.

She asked if it would make her smarter. She really needed to be smarter right now, to find her dad.

"Can't make you much _dumber,"_ Silver said.

She was a little annoyed by that, but... She gave herself the psycho and―Silver was right, it _was_ good. Made her feel a _lot_ better. Clara didn't need to think when she was using psycho, she just did things. She couldn't remember what she had done, but she didn't feel bad or stupid when she was using the psycho. It let her feel free of all the bad things she'd had to do, recently.

She couldn't find Silver when she came down from her high. The woman had left, or something. There was a pile of bad-smelling bloody stuff in the corner of the room that got left behind. Clara crinkled her nose at the smell and went back to Megaton with Moriarty's money.

* * *

As she came into Moriarty's Saloon again, she saw a man in the corner trying to get her attention. Clara felt off, like something was wrong and she couldn't put her finger on it. Maybe the man could help her figure out why. He looked nice in his suit and tie and hat, like a fancy doctor.

"My, my. Just when I had all but given up hope. My dear girl, I am very happy to make your acquaintance. I am Mister Burke," he introduced himself. He sounded very smart, very cool.

Clara slid into the chair beside him and put her hands in between her knees, and looked at him sidelong for a moment, unsure what to say. Mister Burke smiled at her, and she smiled back.

His smile grew wider. "And you, well, you are not a resident of this putrescent cesspool. That makes you a rather valuable individual," he continued, as if the pause had never happened.

"It does?" she asked, not entirely sure what he was going on about.

"Don't you see? You're a free agent! You've no ties here, no interest in this settlement's affairs. Megaton means nothing to you!"

Clara nodded, vaguely. That _was_ true, she didn't live here. ...She didn't live _anywhere,_ now. She did need to get Moriarty's money to him, but that was all she had to do in Megaton.

"I represent certain... interests who view this town, this 'Megaton,' as a _blight_ on a burgeoning urban landscape." He leaned forward, like he was going to tell her a secret. Clara leaned in to hear it. "If this settlement were to... _go away._ Why, who would _really_ care? Certainly not you, or I..." His smiled disappeared and was replaced with a stubborn look. "The undetonated atomic bomb for which this town is named is still very much alive. All it needs is a little _motivation."_

Clara thought about that. He didn't like the place? "But... if the town goes away, the people here won't have anywhere to live," she pointed out.

Mister Burke sat back for a moment and looked her over, a weird look on his face. Unlike all the other men she'd ever met, his eyes didn't linger on her chest. He was smart. He was very smart, and he didn't stare at her chest―and he wanted _her_ help, or else he wouldn't have asked for it―she wanted him to like her, like Amata liked her. She didn't have any _friends_ out here―

She sniffled back tears and tried to keep her composure. It didn't work. "I don't know what to do," she said, wiping her eyes of the tears that came. "I―I just want to find my dad. I―"

"My word," Mister Burke said. He paused for a moment, looking away from her, and set his mouth. When he looked back, he was smiling again. "If you do this for me, I will help you find your father."

Clara's heart soared. "You―you _will?"_

"Of _course."_ Mister Burke put his fingers together and looked at her over the tips. "I have access to a certain... _company_ of men who are very good at what they do. Quite often, that includes finding people."

"Wh-what―" she stammered. This was _great_ ―if he could help her find her dad― _well..._ the people here could build a new town, right? Maybe one that didn't look so _sloppy._ "Tell me what to do," she said, more confidently.

"Excellent! I had a feeling about you. Here's the Fusion Pulse Charge. It needs to be installed inside the bomb." He handed her the charge and she stuffed it into a pocket. "When it's done, meet me at Tenpenny Tower. It's southwest of here, well out of harm's way. You can't miss it. Questions?"

"What if I can't... _do_ this?" she asked, screwing up her mouth. Clara knew she was dumb. She didn't want to admit it to―to what she _hoped_ was a new friend.

"If you get stumped, talk to Leo Stahl. He might have something to help you concentrate. He's got a bit of a reputation." Mister Burke looked at the door, pointedly.

"Okay," she said. "Okay."

 _"Good girl,"_ Mister Burke said, and he smiled at her. She liked to see him smile.

Her heart fluttered inside her chest, just like when she'd been kissed by Butch for the first time.


	5. Bombshell in Blue

He remembered it pretty clearly. That was a little surprising because his memory was shot to hell after so many beatings handed down by Moriarty. He couldn't even remember what happened the first time he met Nova. Felt like his brains really were mush in there, like if he shook his head too fast it would all go flying out one ear and splatter the wall.

Huh, and _he'd_ be the one cleaning it up. You bet your _ass,_ he would.

The damn radio had been acting up, the day she walked in. Wasn't working well for a long time. anyway. But after a really frustrating morning, and a couple of backhands to the head, Gob's temper had gotten the best of him and he'd taken it out on the stupid radio itself. Between Jericho's grumbling, Nova's patient chiding, and his own anxiety, he almost missed it when she sidled in the door and inched up to the counter.

Probably wouldn't have noticed her at all, if Jericho hadn't tripped her and made her fall. The old jerk's laughter and the sound of glass shattering was enough to bring Gob's head around like a whip. His brains stayed in his head, this time.

She'd flung out an arm and swept a few glasses off the surface of the bar, causing a hell of a mess. Gob peered over the counter to see a head of dark brown curls planted face-first into the floor, along with a sizable amount of glass framing it. He grumbled more and fetched the bucket and broom.

Jericho, acting true to himself, lifted a boot and laid it onto the girl's ass while she was sprawled out. The ex-raider made a thoughtful noise to himself when he realized she wasn't protesting, kicking his ass, or even _trying_ to get up from the metal floor. Gob raised the skin above his eyes in confusion. Usually when Jericho was five feet away from a woman, she would scream bloody murder and move in the opposite direction as fast as her shapely little legs could carry her.

Gob poked her with the end of the broom and asked her if she was alright. There was a muffled response, nothing he could make out, and he shot a glance at Nova before he started to sweep up the glass. Nova wasn't watching; her eyes were on the door leading into Moriarty's office. She was waiting for Moriarty to come bustling out, asking what the fuss was. If Gob didn't clean up the mess before then... He sighed to himself and swept faster.

As he lifted the broom away from the floor, he saw a small puddle of blood pooling under the girl's hand. "You should get up," he said, as nicely as he could. "You're bleeding."

"I know," she muffled out.

Gob jabbed a finger into her shoulder, leaning down over her. "I gotta clean up," he said, his whispered tone desperate and urgent. "You stay down there, and Moriarty's gonna come wondering. _Please..."_

He remembered losing the words in his throat as she turned her head slightly, looking up at him with one big and tear-filled blue eye. Her pale face, reddened already, flushed even more as she widened that eye in shock. Gob stood up as straight as he could, staring up into the ceiling. He'd seen that look one too many times to _not_ know what she was thinking.

She'd never seen a ghoul before. Gob glanced out of the bottom of his eyes at her outfit. Vault jumpsuit, some leather jacket with a snake on the back. Shit, she was probably fresh out of the damn place. Wouldn't know her ass from a hole in the ground, out in the wastes. Unless she was tougher than she looked...

She laid her hands flat on the floor and pushed upward, the crunching of glass under her bare hands painful on his exposed eardrums. She might be tough but she was pretty _dumb_ to do something like that. Even he wasn't that dumb, and _he'd_ let himself be talked into slavery―

"What the hell is going on?" Moriarty yelled, interrupting the train of thought. The ghoul's head ducked down into his shoulders at the sound of his voice.

Moriarty came 'round the bar corner and stared down at the mess of brown hair and blue jumpsuit, and his eyes widened. But not in shock; this was a more familiar conniving look that Gob had seen Moriarty pull too many times, to even react. He knew this girl was screwed, if Moriarty got his hands on her.

 _"S-Sorry,_ Mister Moriarty," Gob said, trying to be as apologetic as possible. The more pathetic he was, the less likely he was to be hit.

The girl drew herself to a standing position; she was shorter than he'd expected, about a half a head shorter than both man and ghoul. She paused with her hands out, crinkled her nose up in pain, and turned to face them. Blood dripped evenly to the floor from her hands, but she didn't seem to care.

 _Goddamn._ A bombshell in a blue suit. Even Nova's notable charms were nothing on this girl, and that made Gob feel guilty. The girl was top heavy but hourglass-shaped. Messy curls that framed a heart shaped face and a full red mouth met their respective stares. Gob couldn't help but stare; she was the prettiest girl he'd seen in a long time.

He stared too long. Moriarty slapped him upside the head, muttering a curse. Gob looked away as his heart fluttered, more out of anxiousness than attraction. No girl was pretty enough to risk Moriarty's wrath. He swept up the rest of the glass as quickly as he could.

"Colin Moriarty, at your service! Welcome to Moriarty's!" Moriarty said, sounding genuinely happy to see the girl.

"Nice to meet you," the girl said, extending a hand to the bar owner. "I'm Clara."

Moriarty's eyes dropped to her hand and he shook his head. "You've got glass all through your hand, girl," he said, gently but reproachfully.

Clara's eyes dropped to her hand, which she withdrew immediately and made a fist. A soft hiss of pain told Gob all he needed to know about the girl―she was not at _all_ smart. She was as dumb as he'd thought. She hadn't even thought about or noticed the glass, once Moriarty presented himself to her.

"M-Maybe you can help me?" she asked Moriarty, her voice hopeful and low. "I'm looking for my dad―"

"My God... It's you. The little baby girl, all grown up." Gob's back was turned to the next part of the conversation, scrubbing the floor of the blood the girl had bled. "Oh, your daddy passed through here, all right. Here and gone."

"Do you―do you know where he went?" her voice was like a small child's, full of hope and innocent. It hurt to hear. The only person in the bar who didn't cringe was Moriarty. Even that shithead Jericho winced a _little._

"You seem like a nice kid, so I'm going to be straight with you..." Gob turned his head to see the Irishman lay an arm across the girl's shoulders and start to walk her toward the office. Gob bobbed his mouth once as if to speak, then set it into a tense line across his face. _Dammit._ He couldn't say a damn thing to her.

"What you're asking me for is information, and information is a commodity," he heard Moriarty telling her.

"I don't know what that word means," she replied.

Gob let out an audible groan. Jericho started laughing, delighted with the girl's stupidity.

"These floors are filthy, you useless fucking zombie!" Moriarty yelled out, as he shut the door. "Clean them!"

Clara was in the back with Moriarty for a few minutes, and Gob kept his ear-holes strained, trying to figure out what they were talking about through the door. He knew better than to worry about anyone, even if the girl was too stupid to know better. Didn't stop him from worrying, though.

After a while, she came out of the office with a confused look on her face. She was biting her lower lip and her hands still had glass in them. Small trickles of fresh blood overlaid the dried, and she sat down at the bar in front of the radio to look at her hands.

He couldn't help it. It was risky, but she needed help. Gob asked her to hold out her hands and started picking out the glass. Nova was shaking her head at him and Jericho snickered a little, but Gob didn't care.

"I have to find this woman named Silver," Clara was saying.

God help the girl, Gob thought. She was sweet. _Too_ sweet for her own good. He did what he could, and then Jericho decided to have a go at her. The smelly bastard came around the corner and groped her. Clara didn't react right away, though Gob shot the asshole a look.

Jericho was laughing at her, at how dumb she was, when she stood up without a word, made a bloodied fist, and slammed him in the face. Jericho hit the metal floor of the saloon and everybody went quiet. Clara flexed her hand, then flattened it and put it up to her mouth in horror. "Oh, _my God,"_ she said. _"Oh―"_

"It's okay," Gob said, fighting the urge to laugh. He felt terrible about that. Clara was clearly upset that she'd hit him that hard. Jericho was not getting back up anytime soon. "It's okay, Clara," he said, again, and tried to smile. "You'd better get out of here, though."

She paled, and nodded, and fled.

* * *

A few days later, when she returned, Gob was thinking about it again. Jericho was tucked away in a corner of the bar, nursing one hell of a black eye and a busted nose. It was amusing because Jericho had said he was going to hurt her bad when she came back, but instead of confronting her, he tucked his head down and looked away from her. She had hit him so hard that he was unconscious for a few minutes. Hell, she'd probably given him a concussion!

However you looked at it, Gob enjoyed seeing the asshole being scared of such a sweet girl.

Gob was cleaning up the bar area when she came back with Moriarty's money. Hadn't expected to see her again, really. She made like she was going to come talk to him but then detoured away from the bar to talk with Mister Burke, in the corner he couldn't see into. When she emerged again, she had a happy smile on her face and looked overjoyed.

"Hello, Gob," she said, happily.

"Hey there," he said back, trying not to watch her face. "You need a drink?"

"No sir," she said. "Is Mister Moriarty around? I got his money."

"In the back," Gob said, and jerked a thumb at the door. "He's in a bad mood, though. Mind yourself."

Clara slid off the bar stool and walked around the corner, then paused. Gob could see her adjust herself in her outfit. She was clearly aware of her physical talents. That wasn't going to work on Moriarty. Surprisingly, she pulled out a dose of psycho. She injected it sneakily, shoving the empty chem into a pocket before walking back into the office. Gob didn't like the look of that.

After a few minutes inside the office, her loud voice rang out through the wall. _"What do you mean,_ _more?!"_ she was saying.

Moriarty's response was muted and unclear. Then a reverberation came through the wall and a few thuds landed against the metal. Gob's eyes widened and went to Nova again. She was staring up at the ceiling, not at all casually, pretending not to hear.

Once the sounds stopped, Clara emerged from the room and left the saloon, quickly.

Gob found Moriarty's body laying against the back door, bloody and busted.

He was _free._ And Nova... who was staring into the office, with her eyes in a satisfied smirk, was free too. Free of the asshole's money-pinching regime and free of the abuse he'd heaped upon them for years.

Too bad they wouldn't enjoy it for very _long._


	6. Smarter

Clara made it to Tenpenny Tower with a little bit of luck and hope. She'd found a traveling merchant and got directions and chems, then stuck to shadows after she found out there were all sorts of monsters out in the world. Ants and scorpions and flies and robots and bears... and the people. There were _real_ monsters out here.

She got shot a couple times. It was painful and she didn't like it, one bit. Somewhere along the way she'd found a sledgehammer and she didn't let the jerks of the wastes give her what. It was okay, she'd learned, to kill someone if they were trying to kill you. Not _great,_ but okay.

Clara was good at _okay._ She'd been skating by on _okay_ for so long, it was the only thing that felt right to her anymore.

She knew this thought was one induced by the mentats she'd taken that morning. She'd been taking mentats for a few days, actually, and she felt very good about her chances out in the wastes. She felt much smarter, like the dull edge of her brain was suddenly sharpened by the special pills. Between the mentats and the psycho she'd gotten used to taking, she was unstoppable; she could talk to people without feeling too dumb to make a sentence work, and she could kill them without fear if they tried to attack her anyway. You did what you had to do to survive, in the wastes.

Clara walked up to the tower with a big grin on her face, excited to see Mister Burke again. He'd promised to help her find her dad. He was a good man, and he'd treated her nicely. She thought about his nice suit, his wonderful voice, even those sunglasses that made him look so mysterious. And his _smile..._ she felt her heart fluttering again. It wasn't a new feeling. She'd felt the same about Butch―but it made her heart hurt to think about Butch. To think she would never see him again.

Thinking about Mister Burke made her feel _much_ better. She'd rather think about him.

There was a ghoul outside the tower, and he was arguing with the people behind the gate. Clara watched him for a moment, debating on if she should interfere. She felt emboldened by the mentats and tried to talk to him as he walked away, only to have him be extremely rude to her.

Maybe it was the psycho that made her twitchy, she wasn't sure. She knew better than to get mad at people being rude to her, but this guy―this _stupid_ ghoul―he was a real piece of work. And he wanted into the tower bad enough to threaten the lives of the people inside. Maybe it was the mentats that made her understand his words better, too, because the words he was using were bad words and she didn't like them.

She was delayed in meeting with Mister Burke because of that ghoul, and his stupid words. Mister Burke might be mad at her if she stayed away too long, so she felt terrible for even bothering to talk to the ghoul. Later on, Clara was ashamed of herself for losing her temper and hitting the ghoul, but at least it was... _over with_ quickly.

Chief Gustavo let her in to see Mister Burke and gave her a clap on the back for killing the ghoul. He told her if she needed _anything,_ to come see him. He said he'd treat her good. Clara didn't care about him, she just wanted to get up to see Mister Burke about finding her dad. And letting him know she'd done that thing for him. With the pulse charge. She wanted to see what kind of smile he'd give her for doing that.

That was why she'd started taking mentats, really. Leo said they'd make her smarter, and she needed to be smart to do that thing for Burke. He was right, she did become smarter. Clara smiled to herself in the elevator, but it didn't last long. She was chewing on her thumb by the time she reached the top, thinking about what had happened with Leo Stahl in Megaton.

* * *

About a week earlier, after killing Moriarty by accident when he demanded she pay him more caps, she'd gone out and visited the Stahls in the Brass Lantern. Leo was really surprised that she knew about his addiction. Clara didn't care what he did with himself, it wasn't her business. He had what she wanted, and she met him later that night in the water processing plant to get the chems he'd promised.

His chem of choice was _all_ chems. After huffing some jet with him, she was jittery and hot feeling, and she didn't like it. Leo laughed at that. "You must be a mentats girl," he said, and produced a rattling tin of pills.

"What do _they_ do?" she asked, her hands shaking.

"Make you feel right smart," he said, shaking the tin. "Want to try one?"

"Yes, _please,"_ she said, holding out a hand.

"So polite," he said, grinning. "Maybe you'll do me a favor for it."

Clara withdrew her hand and frowned. "What do you mean?"

Leo set the tin onto the desk and pulled her over to him, pressing her up against him. The jet she'd taken made her skin shiver when he touched her, and she let out a gasp when he ran a hand up her neck and onto her cheek. "Maybe you'll give me a _kiss,"_ he said, smiling. It wasn't a bad smile. Clara kind of liked it. But she didn't like him trying to kiss her.

"I can't," she said, trying to push him away. Her hands were flushed with blood, hot and tingling, as she laid them onto his chest to shove him back. She gasped again at the feeling.

"Sure aren't acting like you can't," he said, and laid one on her lips.

Clara moaned into his mouth, the hot rush of blood to her face and the pleasurable feeling overcoming her for a moment. Leo ran a hand along her back and grabbed hold of her hip, then tugged at her jacket jerkily.

She pulled away from him, shaking her head. "No, I _can't,"_ she said, pushing him back hard.

"C'mon, babe," he muttered, pulling her back to him with his hand on her hip. "Just a little?"

"I have a boyfriend," she hissed at him, blocking his lips with a hand. "I _can't."_

"So where's _he_ at?"

Clara thought about that. Butch was in the Vault... and no one left the Vault. Except for her and her dad... but they had _escaped,_ they weren't just strolling out like they could come back anytime. Butch... _couldn't_ leave. Probably wouldn't, _ever._

And Clara wouldn't be able to go back. She gasped for a third time and felt her eyes filling with tears. She'd never... she'd _never_ see Butch _ever_ again!

"Aw, _hell,"_ Leo said, when he saw her crying. "Here, just take them, damn." He let her go and handed her the pills. Clara sank down to her knees and stared at the tin for a long time before she opened it with a shaking hand, and shook out a handful.

"If you aren't gonna fool around, then you gotta pay me," Leo was saying.

Clara looked at the little pills in her hand, then stared up at Leo. "What?"

"You heard me." He picked up the canister of jet and shook it next to his ear. "I'm not giving you free chems just because you're _pretty."_

Her mouth fell open, then shut, and she frowned. "I don't have any money―"

"What!" Leo reached out and grabbed up her hand, swiping out the mentats with his other hand. "What the hell―were you even _thinking,_ you little idiot?! You think I was gonna let you have 'em for free?"

Clara got mad, and when she got mad she did things that she sometimes regretted, like when she was younger and she said bad things to Butch and made him beat her up. _He'd_ gotten over it, but Clara still felt bad about it.

She realized she'd done something stupid, again, but he didn't have to be so mean to her. "Let me go!" she said, raising up a fist. "Let me go, right now!"

"Right, you're gonna _hit_ me now?" Leo asked, and let her go, then shoved her backward into the door frame.

It hurt her back. And Clara got mad. She hit him a couple of times and he stopped moving. She panicked, grabbed up the mentats and other chems, and fled the water processing plant.

She never did go back to see if he was okay―

* * *

"Clara, my dear child, there you are," Mister Burke was saying. He looked happy to see her.

Clara removed her thumb from her mouth and gave him a tiny smile, her face still screwed up with sadness. "Hello," she said. The mentats had worn off already, and she was a little upset by that. She'd hoped she could wow Mister Burke with her enhanced intelligence.

"Now, now, what is this?" Mister Burke led her gently to a door and away from the elevator, an arm around her shoulder. "Such _sadness,_ on what should be a wonderful occasion. We're doing good work here, Clara."

"I'm sorry, Mister Burke," she said, feeling guilty. "I haven't had a very good day, myself."

"I'm sure that will all change, very shortly," he replied, and they went through a door out onto a balcony. "Here we are. Mister Tenpenny? This is Clara. Clara, say hello to Mister Tenpenny."

Clara saw the older man sitting in a chair on the balcony and nodded to him. "Hello," she said, barely more than a whisper. Mister Burke was looking at her in anticipation. "I, _uh―"_ she started, making a circle gesture with her hands.

"The pulse charge is rigged? Excellent! Excellent!" Mister Burke looked over her to the older man, who had a surprisingly high-pitched voice, as he spoke. She wasn't really paying attention to Mister Tenpenny; her eyes were on Mister Burke and his strong jaw as he talked. The idea crossed her mind that, if it were pleasant to kiss Butch and Leo's kiss had been even more pleasant (if unwanted), then Mister Burke would be wonderful to kiss...

She flushed and looked away, focusing on her hands. It wasn't _good_ to think such things, was it? Clara had never felt like _that_ before. She didn't know what to do about it.

"Ah. The anticipation is palpable. Isn't it?" Mister Burke was looking down at her, his hand on her shoulder. She shivered when he moved it down her arm and away, and closed her eyes tightly.

She didn't know what to say, to answer him, so she just swallowed hard and nodded. She still wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen, here. She looked up at Mister Burke and saw his face flush with excitement, his smile playing across his face with ease. That made her heart flutter in joy, and she smiled back.

"When you have finished savoring the moment, you may have the honor of pressing the button. Oh, and mind your eyes. It'll be brighter than bright," he told her, his own eyes masked by his sunglasses.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her hands moving to wring themselves together. "I don't know much about how that sort of thing works..."

"The detonator is right over there. You may have the honor. Hit the switch!" he said, somewhat impatiently.

Clara went the to box on the table and looked down at it. "Um." She raised her hand and then lowered it. "Mister Burke...?"

"What is it, Clara?" he asked. He definitely sounded like he was getting angry with her as he moved to her side.

She didn't like that. She pointed at the box. "Um," she said, lowering her voice. "I really don't know how to work it," she whispered. "Which one is it?"

"Shall I help you?" he asked her, his voice whispering as well. Clara shuddered at the sound―she could just imagine him whispering in her ear, saying her name when they were kissing... It was distracting, and she almost lost her head over it. She told herself it wasn't what good girls did, and the thoughts faded away.

She breathed in shakily. _"Please,"_ she said, finally.

Mister Burke took her hand and placed it onto the button, his thumb over hers as he pressed it down. Clara didn't even notice what was going on in the background, apart from the bright flash, until the shockwave washed over her skin. She was forced to look away from Mister Burke's hand on hers and out into the wasteland, where an enormous mushroom cloud was growing bigger in the sky.

She opened her mouth in a silent scream as she realized what had just happened―


	7. Hammer and Chisel

Burke and Tenpenny applauded the scene. It really was a magnificent thing, sending a whole town to a fiery demise, and the excitement at being an accessory to such prodigious violence took a lot out of Burke. He was literally staggered, watching the carnage, backing down from Clara's side.

"My God... what transcendent beauty... what purifying light..." The sheer enormity of the act was enough to send a pang through his heart and out through his toes. He had not felt such a thrill in his entire life. The feeling was intoxicating, giving one an addictive rush. Involvement in such a devastating power play... was what the very word "awe" described, when properly defined. Burke's face split in a rapturous grin.

The girl stood frozen, her pretty red mouth open in astonishment. After the coruscating display had disappeared from the horizon and the turgid clouds were rolling across the wasteland floor, she dashed back through the doors without a word. Perhaps the incredible display had shocked her a little too much―women were often the weaker sex, and Burke knew she was especially weak in her mind. He couldn't _not_ know; it was by sheer strength alone that she'd made it across the wastes to the tower.

It was simply a _shame,_ that she was not so gifted in her mind as she was in her form. Her body had taken up the slack where her mind was wanting, and that in _itself_ was impressive. Burke was exceptionally inspired by those who were strong enough to survive. Clara... was something special. _Yes._ She was very nearly _perfect,_ but for her infantile brain.

He coughed a little to himself, spitting dust from his mouth, and adjusted his hat on his head. Tenpenny was on about something―the reward she'd been promised.

"Of course," Burke answered. He had yet to make good on his promise by her, to help her find her father. Poor child, she was lost without the man; she was not alienable, as some might be once they lost an important countenance in their lives. She very dearly needed a steady hand to guide her, in this excreable world.

"The girl is fetching," Tenpenny said. "I think she will make a fine addition to company, here in the tower. Too bad she's already got her eyes on someone!" The old man's breathy cackle echoed out into the wastes.

Burke had noticed. The girl was _distinctly_ enchanted by him. He'd not had any such thoughts toward the girl, preferring to focus on the completion of the job; on the vile works that he must do to benefit his employer―and further the great works that he so particularly _enjoyed_ seeing completed. The girl... well. Perhaps he was old enough now, to have earned a bit of respite from his manic wanderings.

He wouldn't presume _his_ hand was the one that could steady such a physically formidable woman-child, though.

"Go on, then, invite her to stay," the old man said, shooing him away with one hand. "Now... where's my scotch?" Tenpenny groped around his table for a much-needed drink.

Burke cleared his throat and nudged the bottle across the table toward him, then squared himself and exited the balcony, looking about for the girl. She'd collapsed onto a pot in the foyer, and was sobbing to herself without sound.

"Clara... my dear," Burke said, standing behind her. She didn't answer, only turned her head to face further away from him. "It was a wonderful thing you did. Inspirational. Truly."

 _"They―"_ she said, her words smothered by the ceramic but easily heard. "They're _all―"_

"You should be proud of your accomplishment," Burke said, and laid a hand on her shoulder, bending slightly. "What you did, it was a _great_ thing."

"I didn't _want_ to _kill―"_ Clara said, her voice rising shrilly. She sat up rigidly and turned a tear-stained face to him, her eyes wounded.

Burke smiled patiently. He had... _anticipated_ her reluctance to complete the job; but when she hadn't disagreed with her rôle in the spectacle, he'd mistakenly assumed that she understood and was willing and able. Quite obviously she was too _simple_ to have understood the drastic nature of the work; it made him... nervous to think that she was displeased with the situation. Especially when he was looking forward to being neighborly with her.

"That place, those people... necessary sacrifices." He sighed shortly, under his breath. "We must do the work, Clara. This is a defining moment in your life, setting a precedent one must live up to." He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts and continue attempting to console the teenager. No doubt she was extremely young. Perhaps _too_ young, to understand the work. "Not many have the opportunity to witness such a divine event. You have done something _amazing,_ something which has not been done for over two hundred years―"

"Mass murder is not amazing!" she said, pushing his hand from her shoulder. Burke righted himself, drawing himself up to his full height. He gazed down at her through his sunglasses, his brown eyes open in a thin aperture on her deep blue ones. A smile quivered across his face, unbidden but fortuitous in the moment.

Clara stared up at him for a moment before her face went red and she looked away, biting her lip. Burke's smile, while not exactly timid, grew in confidence. Perhaps she could be swayed to understanding... another way.

It certainly had been a long while since he'd exercised his mental wiles on a female of such youth, and never on one of such... imposing stature. He couldn't recall the last time he'd engaged in physical activity with any female, nor could he bring to mind how such an event might have ended. He mused to himself for a moment, watching her face grow more crimson with blood in the glaring light of Tenpenny's foyer.

She was enamored of him. Anyone could see her watching him when he talked, her eyes rapt on his lips as they moved. She didn't look him in the eyes―probably because she couldn't see them, behind the sunglasses. She watched him speaking because she enjoyed hearing his voice, perhaps... or was it because she was interested in something an iota more... _substantial?_

Burke's knees creaked with misuse as he bent himself to her level, and gazed directly at her, opening his mouth slightly as if to speak. Immediately her eyes were on his mouth. He closed it without any valuable riposte, smiling at her once more. She was definitely watching his lips and not waiting for him to voice anything. She kept her dark blue beauties on his mouth and did not look away.

How... _crude._ But what could he expect from a childish person, with such defined corporeal assets? The girl was strong of _body;_ she would not be listening to what he said unless it served a greater purpose than sex, and Burke knew acutely how important sex could be to youth such as Clara. He too, had once been an attractive young person with such needs.

"Clara," he said, softly. "I've been asked to extend to you an invitation to reside at Tenpenny Tower."

"What...?" she asked, suddenly confused. Her eyes swept up his face to his own, looking not only angry but dulled by strong emotion.

"Wouldn't you like to live _here?"_ he asked, abruptly. "I have the key, and deed, to your new master suite. It's on this floor, first door on your right from the elevator." He gestured, out the door to the lobby of the penthouse floor.

"Home," she said, sullenly. "My... own home?"

"If you so desire," Burke replied, "yes. Your own home, which you may spruce up as you please." He held out the key, dangling it so that it caught the light.

Clara's eyes focused on the metal and she grabbed it, and pushed herself upward from the pot. "Show me," she said, in the same deadened voice.

Burke escorted her to the door, extending an elbow for her to take as they walked the short distance. He was, after all other things that might be considered atrocious of his person, still a _gentleman._

* * *

She was pleased with the room. He could tell by the tiny light that shimmered in the back of her eyes. She didn't want to be pleased; she wanted to wallow in her misery for having destroyed Megaton. Burke was not entirely satisfied with the outcome of the detonation; he would not have enjoyed it if she were exuberantly crass about the whole event, but her withdrawn nature was equally disappointing.

"Clara," he said, as he stood near the door of the room. She was exploring with her fingertips, running them along the bookshelves and pushing the robo-butler away. She walked out into the room, then stopped, and discarded her jacket onto the floor.

She did not answer him. Burke was patient. He watched as she paused, then picked up the jacket and folded it carefully, placing it onto the bookshelf. She removed the sledgehammer she was carrying―an apt weapon, for one who had just become the hammer of _God_ with the touch of a button. It, too, was laid onto a shelf with care.

"Clara," he reminded her, his presence in the room only made appropriate as long as she continued to remain clothed. Her Vault suit was thin enough to give him an estimable idea of her physique, and he was appreciative. But he was not so rude as to make mention.

 _If..._ he chose to pursue her, in such a fashion, he would _not_ be disappointed, he knew. Burke's face retained the pleasant smile he'd first greeted her with. He was not a man prone to imagining such base desires, but a tendril of thought had crossed his mind. It was weaving itself through his mind as she walked about the room, her short and muscular legs moving without error across the floor.

Without error until she reached the bed; she collapsed onto the coverlet and buried her face in the pillows. Burke clucked at her, chidingly. "Now is the time for celebration, Clara. Not cheerlessness."

She didn't speak. She laid on her stomach for such a long time, he wondered if the events of the day were truly deserving of such anguish... or if her weakened emotional state had led her to become faint. It was with a heavy step and much reluctance that he moved to examine her prone body, only to find with a touch that she was awake and very much alert to his movement. She pushed herself onto her side as he touched her lightly.

"Mister Burke―" she started, heaving her chest in a sigh.

Yes, Nature had been both kind and unkind to the girl. Burke's eye did not dip to the splendor. He was never so crude as to ogle a woman, unless he was given the strictest permission to do so and only while engaged in a relationship. Clara seemed put out by his discontinued glance downwards. Perhaps she would enjoy the attention; it was simply not who he was, however.

"Yes?" he asked, affably. She wouldn't... well, he couldn't expect a girl raised in a Vault to make the intent known, but he himself was still somewhat trepid to engage in such behavior. He barely knew the girl, of course.

 _"Why?"_ she asked, as baffled and hurt as he'd ever heard any female give voice to. She stared up at him through an attractive tangle of brown curls, sniffling. Fat tears were rolling down her face, quietly and stubbornly marching down her nose and dripping onto the bed.

He weighed the words for a moment, as they rested on his tongue, before tipping the scale. So be it, if she was disinclined to fraternize with him after the conclusion to this _sensational_ day. "The place, the people... they're one and the same, Clara. Sacrifices for a nobler future." He paused again, and sat himself onto the edge of the bed, in a confidential manner. "I assure you, they are worth ten times as much in death, as they are in life."

 _"How?"_ she asked, staring at his mouth again.

"There are times when our job is not to question the duty we are given," he began. "Suffice to say, we are soldiers in a war fought on a moral battlefront. For some to have a more pleasant future, others must go to war... and that is what we have done, today." Burke laid his hand onto her arm and rubbed it gently. "Here's to a better future. Here's to Tenpenny Tower!" He held up a hand in an imaginary toast to the future.

Clara stared at him without expression, then suddenly rose from the bed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her face into his shoulder. "I don't know what to _do,_ Mister Burke," she said, her voice wobbling with fright and tears. _"Will you tell me what to do?"_

Burke had forgotten how "do or die" the teenage mindset could truly be. He was crestfallen by her submissive behavior... but he could see the subservience being of use to him, in the future.

"Of course, my dear," he said, as neutrally as he could. "Of course."

Burke smiled into that soft brown hair, slyly. Truly she had given Tenpenny Tower a brighter future, forged in a nuclear explosion and tempered by her navïety.


	8. I Understand

Note: As if he couldn't be any more creepy. Sigh. Warning, a bit of hanky panky at the end.

* * *

Mister Burke said he would explain later. Explain _why―_

She didn't want to think about it.

Clara was absolutely _miserable._ Mister Burke told her to take a nap but she wasn't sleepy at all, so she emptied out her sack of goods and went through it. She was out of mentats. Frustrated, she threw the empty tin across the room. She didn't know how to think on her own, without the pills. She would have to go and find a doctor to buy some.

She wasn't out of psycho, but the feeling it gave her was too much energy, more than she needed right now―Clara was too upset, she'd probably get angry and hurt someone. She looked down at the mess on the bed and wondered what else she'd grabbed.

She threw aside tin cans, empty soda bottles, some toy cars and a teddy bear. After a moment of sorting the goods, she picked the bear up and looked at it. She'd grabbed it because she missed her bear, left back in the Vault. It seemed too childish to hold onto the toy, now. She looked down at the pile of chems in front of her, needles and psycho injectors and a brown bottle of pills. She looked back to the teddy bear and her hand tightened on the ratty fur, feeling the softness.

The Vault. Clara sucked up snot into her head, blinking back the tears that stayed in her eyes. She grabbed hold of the memory because it was easier than trying to think about what had just happened.

Butch and Amata. Amata would have known what to do, she probably would have told Clara not to talk to Burke at all... She frowned to herself. But... but Clara wouldn't... she wouldn't have _liked_ that. Mister Burke was... a good man. He didn't stare at her like every other man did, he used important words, and he... he knew what he was _doing,_ even if what he was doing was something wrong.

She had been alone in the wastes until she found Mister Burke. The only other person she would have wanted to be friends with was Gob, at the saloon. Clara sobbed into the bear, smashing it into her face. Mister Burke had told her that they were all dead because―because the people in the tower didn't _like_ them? She didn't know. She needed mentats to make sense of it.

And Mister Burke... even though he'd asked her to push that button, to kill them all... she _still wanted him._ She still wanted to hear him whisper in her ear and she wanted him to touch her― _touch_ her like Butch had touched her. She wanted to make him happy like she'd made Butch happy, and she didn't want him to be mad at her like Butch had been.

In her chest her heart was aching, and she knew why. She was being stupid again. She shouldn't even _think_ about things like that. Good girls didn't think things like that. It wasn't _right._

But... what Mister Burke had done to Megaton wasn't right, either... _right?_ Clara wasn't a _good_ girl, at all, anymore. Not for helping him to burn up all those people. She was confused. Was it okay to feel that way, if she wasn't good anymore?

Mister Burke said he was doing _good_ things to help the people here. Clara wanted to help people, that was all she'd ever been okay at in her whole life. Could she be _bad,_ and still help people? Mister Burke said he'd tell her what to do, to help more people and...

And he'd told her he would help her find her dad. She wanted so desperately to find her dad, so that she could―so they could be a family again? She didn't know. Her dad was smart. Maybe not the same kind of smart as Mister Burke, but he was smart and he'd always known what was best for her. She really needed him to be here, to tell her what was right and what was wrong, because she couldn't tell for herself. Clara missed him terribly, now. Even though she hadn't seen him in person for almost a whole week before they left―

Clara dropped the teddy bear in shock. Wait, maybe... maybe he'd not even left the Vault at _all?_

No, that was even dumber than―no one would have tried to get rid of her like that, pretending her dad was gone from the Vault just so she'd chase after him. Not even if she was the _worst_ person in the world―and she sure felt like that, right now―

They wouldn't have killed Jonas just because they were trying to get rid of her. Jonas was a good man, knew what he was doing. Worked the clinic and they needed him there. The Overseer wouldn't want to get rid of him. Clara cried a little for Jonas. Jonas didn't deserve to die. He'd always been so nice to her and she regretted not ever taking him up on his offer of dinner.

They _had_ wanted to get rid of her... but only when her dad escaped. The Overseer wouldn't have chased her with a bat if he didn't intend to hurt her. A lot of people had wanted to hurt her, the security officers and the people yelling at her because her father had left... she didn't want to think about that. She sniffled and stared down at the bed cover. She remembered how Butch gave her his jacket, instead.

After that night... Amata had been concerned and Clara hadn't wanted her to know about the secret. She hadn't told Amata anything about it. She said she'd found Butch in her quarters, which was the truth. She hadn't told her he spanked her because she was being bad and going around with Mr. Brotch after Butch told her she was his. She hadn't told her she'd _earned_ the beating.

And Butch... Clara wiped her face of tears. He'd avoided her after that. He didn't like her anymore, she thought. She'd still kept the secret, though.

Clara would give anything to go back to the way things _were,_ even if things were terrible then. She wanted Butch back, even if he was mad at her. She wanted Amata back, wanted her dad back―she wanted to go _home―_

She wanted to undo all the things she'd done in the last few days. But she _couldn't._ Clara looked down at the chems lying on the covers and swallowed hard. The only thing she could do was try to forget.

Her hands closed around a needle.

* * *

Mister Burke found her later, lying halfway off the bed with her head on the floor. She'd injected the stuff called med-x and gone a little loopy, then passed out. Overall it hadn't been a bad experience, she _had_ forgotten all about blowing up Megaton―

Clara threw up onto the floor as Mister Burke righted her and gave her a stern talking-to about the dangers of chems. Told her she would rot her brain if she used them, and then he said something that made her heart have an attack.

"You are too sweet a girl to be destroyed," he said. "And I should be severely disappointed, if that were the case. I rather like you, Clara."

She couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't enjoy watching him talk. She'd been bad again, and he was mad at her. The very thing she'd been afraid of. Clara melted into a mess of tears again and Mister Burke sat with her on the bed, patting her knee and telling her that it was alright.

"Do not use chems again," he said.

 _"Okay,"_ she said. She meant it, too. She would try.

"I do not want to have to punish you for not doing as I say, Clara."

Clara shivered at the tone in his voice. Part of her wondered what he might say if she did do it again―or what he might do _to_ her, instead―she felt like she was going to fly up into the air and never come down. It was a strange feeling she'd never had before. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest.

"That is _correct,_ is it not?" he asked her, staring at her through his sunglasses. "You do desire to be told what to do?"

She felt faint, and wobbled a little. "I―" She sniffled a little. "I do."

"You realize the disadvantages of such a relationship, don't you?" He ran a hand along her thigh. Clara shivered at his touch. "Being at the beck and call of another person, without having any say? Under the _complete_ control of someone else?"

She nodded and bit her lip. "I just want to make people happy," she said, sadly. "I can't... I can't do that, on my own."

Mister Burke smiled. "You would like to make me happy, yes?"

Clara gasped as his hand turned and went up her side. He turned himself on the edge of the bed to face her, bringing his hand up to her shoulder and laying the other onto her cheek. Fire exploded through her, and she closed her eyes as she felt him touching her face. "I w-would," she stammered out.

 _"Clara."_

The whispered words in her ear made her moan, a shiver running down her spine and around, through her flesh and up into her stomach. It settled there and grew in intensity as Mister Burke moved his hand off of her shoulder and to her front, unzipping her jumpsuit slowly. Her mouth trembled, words coming to her lips but trapped. She pressed them together, tightly, trying not to speak.

Butch had never wanted her to talk. She opened her eyes in shock as she felt fingertips running across her chest, under the thin shirt she wore, grasping her nipple. Mister Burke didn't hesitate; he pinched it painfully, causing her to gasp out.

"Have you ever, Clara?" he was asking. She felt the pain and pleasure mixing, sending a hot flush to her privates. He released her and chuckled, softly.

"No," she said, turning her head to look away. _"Not_ ―all the way."

"What a find," he murmured, tossing the shoulder of her jumpsuit off of her, and pulling the cloth from her arms. His voice became labored, like he was having trouble breathing. "You... you make me _very_ excited, Clara. You've done _everything_ I've wanted..." Mister Burke paused and unhooked her Pip-Boy, placing it onto the floor. "And yet you still have _so_ much more to offer."

"I..." she moaned again. He'd put his hands back up her shirt, touching her lightly. She shuddered and felt herself melting into his fingers as they played across her flesh. Then her undershirt was off, and she felt hot and cold at the same time. He pinched her other nipple and drew another gasp from her. It felt so good... and it _hurt..._

 _"Very_ good," he said, sounding satisfied. "Now, stand."

She stood, feeling very heavy all of a sudden. Mister Burke took her hips in his hands and stared her up and down, running one of his hands over her stomach and around her back. She swallowed hard and looked down at his hat. It was―it was _bad_ to want this, wasn't it? Mister Burke... wanted her. She wanted him to want _her,_ so much...

With a swift motion, he pushed his hand down her spine and into her pants, and pulled everything off of her body. "My word," he breathed out, looking her over. Clara trembled in the cool air of the room.

He removed his hat and sunglasses in a swift motion, tossing them to the bedspread, then grabbed her hips again and rubbed her skin gently. He smiled wider, his eyes crinkling with the motion. "You are spectacularly blessed, Clara," he said. "Such splendor... is _meant_ to be enjoyed."

She closed her eyes and breathed a little quicker, feeling his touch on her hips, moving inward and sliding across her pubic hair. He cupped her flesh with one hand and pressed a finger inward, causing her to almost lose her balance. A sharp thrill ran up her front and back at the same time, and she panted out a long moan.

Burke's eyes lifted to hers and he raised an eyebrow, then he removed his hands from her. "Let us see how much you understand." He began to loosen his tie, staring at her. "...On your knees, Clara."

Clara did as she was told.


	9. A Reason For Murder

Note: Darn that plot, always showing up when things start getting good.

I've never been particularly sympathetic to James but there's always a first.

* * *

James, once again, found himself trapped. Trapped into a Vault, as before, but with significant enough difference; this time, there wasn't much chance of him escaping. He had already lost track of time. It could have been weeks or even months that he was in this predicament, at this time.

When he entered the simulation, he had expected the residents to be uneasy with his appearance; having a stranger in their midst after so long of a time would certainly have been a concern, but he had done that once before as well. He was confident he could talk his way out of the panic he might have caused. He had not expected to find Dr. Braun gone insane and the simulated world changing at his whim; he had also not expected that the residents would not even realize they were in a simulation. He was perfectly aware of his situation... but they had lost their minds in the ages past. He might lose his, if he wasn't careful.

Dr. Braun had trapped him in a dog's body. Without his words, he was defenseless against the mad doctor. It was nigh impossible to tell how long he'd been stuck in such a way, and Dr. Braun was not fond of being told it was bedtime by the adults in the simulation. It was never night, in Tranquility Lane.

He waited for so long he'd almost given up hope. Eventually, he knew that Dr. Braun would be starved for proper conversation, or change the simulation as he had before. Therein lay the path which he must take to find his way out. He must be patient.

And he was grateful that Clara was safe in Vault 101.

* * *

She wasn't in the Vault. Lord knew how long James had been in the dog's body, attempting to garner Dr. Braun's notice. Braun had already been muttering under his breath in his little girl form, his attention span shortened by the ability to change his surroundings when he so chose. James knew it was only a matter of time before Braun began some sadistic game, a game in which James would likely play a role. He was patient.

But Clara was not. When she appeared in the simulation, James wept inside. The girl... she was lucky to have made it this far, in finding him. She was not... She was mentally incapable of understanding anything he might have needed her to aid him in.

James was fully aware that his daughter was mentally handicapped. He'd been aware of it her entire life. He suspected it had to do with how long it had taken to deliver her; what had caused Catherine to die had also caused Clara brain damage, and doomed her to a mediocre life. She may have been brilliant, if she had not been deprived of so much oxygen during the lengthy delivery.

And to see Clara standing before him, smiling happily, petting him and telling him he was a good dog... It was unnervingly poetic. He was struck dumb by the reversal, needing her to help him get out of the simulation.

Dr. Braun, of course, figured out her deficiency immediately and was delighted to find she would take orders without question. James could not help but feel his heart sinking as Braun ordered Clara to make the Newsbaum child cry―and he let out a whine when the girl immediately marched over to the lemonade stand, and hit the boy.

This was not the Clara he had left behind in the Vault. However she had escaped―no doubt Amata had turned her onto his leaving, she was smart as a whip and would have cared enough to let Clara know―his daughter had been introduced to the wasteland in a dramatic fashion and was now colder, harder, and more violent for it.

He was ashamed to think that he had caused her innocence to become broken. Of course she had left to find him. There was nothing else she would have done. Clara was loyal and had nothing beyond Amata to keep her in the Vault―and Amata would have only told her to leave if she was incapable of remaining―

Braun and she were discussing murder. _Murder!_ James' heart fairly exploded when Clara agreed to the appalling act. She _agreed_ to kill every last person in the simulation.

And she _did._

What had _happened_ to Clara―

* * *

Immediately, once he was free of the simulation, he rushed to Clara's side. She tripped over her own feet to get to him, falling onto her face and hands. "Clara―" he said, helping her from the floor "―what are you _doing_ here?"

After she'd hugged him for far too long, and cried a little because she was so happy to see him, she explained what had happened in the Vault. James was rent to hear that the Overseer had literally chased her out of the Vault once she tried to turn herself in. Alphonse... had never been a patient man, but James had hoped he would at least allow for Clara to live out her life in peace.

Perhaps Alphonse was concerned about the dilution of the gene pool; no matter how often James had attempted to convince him of the brain damage, that the reduction of her intelligence was not genetic... the Overseer hadn't believed him. He supposed that Alphonse thought it was hilarious and fitting that the doctor's daughter be so... dumb.

James looked about them at the men that appeared to be waiting for something. "Darling, what is going on?" he asked Clara. "Who are these people?"

Clara wiped her face of tears and looked around. "Mister Burke sent them with me to find you," she said, proudly. "They helped me fight off the monsters outside."

How stupid _he_ was to have left her behind―"Who is Mister Burke?" he asked her.

She opened and closed her mouth and then frowned in concentration. "He's very smart," she finally said, very slowly. "Once he found where you were, he wanted to meet you."

The tone of voice she using sent his mind into a spiral of fear. "Darling, I don't have _time_ to meet anyone―" James grabbed Clara by her shoulders. "And I think _you_ should come with _me,_ to Rivet City, to talk to Dr. Li. What I'm doing―it's for your mother, and for you." He could imagine a number of horrible people that might have dug their claws into her, once outside of the Vault―and she was not smart enough, nor was she capable enough, to escape such nefarious clutches.

Clara's eyes widened. "But, dad, you _have_ to meet Mister Burke―"

"I don't," he said, firmly. "And I won't."

She looked like she was about to cry. James sighed to himself. It wasn't the first, nor would it be the last, time that he'd made Clara cry. She sniffled a little, and he braced himself for the inevitable flood of tears.

One of the men to her right cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling. Clara's attention was drawn to the man, and she frowned again, blinking back the tears. The flood didn't come, and James was surprised. "Dad, I have to take you to Tenpenny Tower," she said, a little more forcefully. "I can't... I _can't_ let you go."

"What are you saying, Clara?"

She stood a little straighter. "You have to come with me and meet Mister Burke and Mister Tenpenny," she said, in a commanding tone he'd never heard her use unless she was fighting with the Tunnel Snakes, back in Vault 101.

"Cla―"

A hand landed on his shoulder and he turned to see one of the mercenary men standing behind him. "You heard the lady," he said. "Let's go."

Clara didn't speak to him for a long time. The last thing he heard her say was a soft "I'm sorry, dad" as they left the Vault and began a journey south.

* * *

Mister Burke turned out to be an older man in a business suit, a real nasty piece of work―as James had expected. The man operated out of Tenpenny Tower, which James was told was owned by Alistair Tenpenny, an avid businessman. They were very interested to hear what James' plan was, and to receive information about Project Purity. James might have shot his way out, but the Talon Company mercenaries―the men who had escorted them back to the tower―were _more_ than capable of killing him. And Clara, because if he were threatened... she would defend him. With her safety in mind he chose to see what was happening, before attempting his third escape in the last few weeks.

He wasn't as concerned to meet this Mister Burke, until Clara greeted him with a kiss on the cheek.

The spike of dread that impaled James, then, was almost _intolerable._ Everything― _everything_ that he had ever wanted for her, was gone. His hopes that she would remain in the Vault, dashed. His dream that she would have a boring and pleasant life in such confinement, perhaps having her own children, taken in one fell swoop. Even thoughts that she may have come across someone sympathetic to her condition, vanished―Clara had become an accessory to a greater evil than he'd ever met before.

Certainly the man _was_ evil. From the moment he opened his mouth to speak, James had a feeling about him. And it only went _further_ downhill from there. Clara went off on her own while Burke, James, and a few of the Talon Company men rode the elevator up to the penthouse floor.

"You should be proud," Burke said, leaning into James' ear to speak to him. "Clara has furthered the _greatest_ of plans."

"Dare I ask what those plans are?" James replied, his voice hostile.

"Far better than your own, I'm sure," Burke murmured. "After all, leaving one's child to a bat-wielding maniac pales in comparison to detonating a nuclear warhead."

He was jarred. In shock, unable to speak. _"Wh―"_

"Don't bother yourself over that," Burke said calmly, gazing directly ahead of him. "I can only thank you profusely. Clara is an excellent addition to Tenpenny's plans for the wasteland." James watched a jocose smile spreading on the man's face. "And she takes orders so _exemplarily."_

James' temper flared. "Just what the hell does _that_ mean?!" he asked, turning on the man. "What have you been _doing_ with _my daughter?!"_

Burke raised an eyebrow and lowered it, the smile never leaving his face. "Mind yourself, James. Clara has decided for herself; there is nothing you can do to stop her."

"Decided _what?_ You must be aware that she has the mental faculty of a _child!"_ James balled his hands up into fists. "She should not be making decisions like _th_ ―for _herself!_ That was why I left her in the Vault―"

"I think she understands more than you know," Burke said, coolly. "She wishes to make people happy. For that, there is no morality involved." His smile transformed into a less pleasant one. "She makes me _quite_ happy."

He'd always thought of himself as a calm and collected man, but when faced with this predator who was almost certainly alluding to things other than doing whatever―whatever he'd meant about the warhead―and he knew full well how _malleable_ Clara could be, which was why he'd tried to make sure she'd made friends with Amata―

James threw the first punch. It was the last, because the elevator doors opened and he tumbled out into the lobby without connecting. Burke had sidestepped the blow and tossed him out of the car without effort.

As he lay on the floor of the lobby, staring up at the man, seeing the devastating smile across his face and watching him adjust his tie before stepping out of the elevator car―

If there _ever_ were a reason to want to murder, James now had one.


	10. Punishment

Note: There are times when I don't even understand why I'm writing, ya'll. But Mama sees you reading. I'll keep writing.

Minor inconsistency fixed, sorry guys

* * *

Clara wasn't there to hear the talk that Mister Burke had with her dad, nor did she hear what Mister Tenpenny wanted to say; she was asked to tidy up her room for her father to sleep in, once they were done talking. She was excited that he would be staying with her, at first. But Mister Burke told her that it would be best to let him alone, to think on the offer he was going to be given from Mister Tenpenny. She would stay in his room, that night.

She was even _more_ excited about that. Mister Burke had told her that he wasn't a young man. He couldn't provide the sort of attention that she might want, but, he would "certainly try to entertain her as best as possible."

"After all, my love... we've all the time in the world." He stroked her hair gently and smiled at her. Clara's heart pounded with the thought. If that time included more of what had happened last time―

She shook with want.

Her father tried to speak with her once he was done talking to Mister Tenpenny and Mister Burke, but Mister Burke pushed him into her room and took the keys from her. He spent another ten minutes in her room talking to her father, then locked the door behind him as he came out.

"You have blood on you," she pointed out, frowning.

Mister Burke looked down are his sleeve and tsked. "That is correct," he said, and made a disappointed noise. "Not to worry, my love. It's not mine."

"Whose is it―" she began.

"Shush," Mister Burke said, placing a finger on her mouth. Clara flushed and quieted, moving her lips against his finger in silent words. The feeling of his touch was addictive. She so desperately wanted him―and he knew she did. He ran his finger across her cheek and under her chin. He smiled patiently at her, and dropped his hand. "You have a one-track mind, Clara."

"Um―" she started, and looked down in embarrassment. It... wasn't bad. To be like that. She'd enjoyed herself, he saw to that. And he'd said himself that she was meant to be enjoyed.

"Come along, my love," Mister Burke said, and motioned her into his room.

Clara squeaked and followed, a happy smile on her face.

* * *

The night was surprising for her. Mister Burke had taken her virginity, but he was not inclined to have sex again so soon. Clara had tried to egg him into it as much as she dared, but he said he would rather she find another way to keep herself busy. This left her with nothing to do with herself, and she ended up annoying him.

He punished her for her annoyance. She'd put her hands on his knees, and looked up at him from the floor, sighing impatiently. Clara had never been good at keeping herself entertained. She'd always looked for Amata to hang out with... and later, she'd had Butch to keep her busy. She wanted for Mister Burke to entertain her, like he'd promised.

He made a threatening noise, and Clara jerked away in surprise. She realized she'd gone a little too far when he stood up suddenly. He dropped his book to the floor and seized her up, put both her wrists in one hand, then paused and appeared to be collecting himself.

"I warned you," he told her, angrily removing his sunglasses and staring at her. "I did say that I didn't want to have to punish you!"

 _"Please―"_ she said, and tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered Butch. "Don't hit me, I won't―I _won't_ do it again―"

 _"Clara..."_ his voice was chiding. "You've already done it, how can I not punish you? I asked you to let me be, more than once. You should have _listened!"_

She sobbed, and he looked at her with amusement. _"P-please,"_ she said, again. Tears fell from her eyes, making her sight blurry, and dropped from her chin onto her chest.

"Love, if I don't punish you, how can you learn to be a good girl?" He moved her to the bed and began to undo his belt. "I have a feeling you won't be so... _enthusiastic,_ once you've been properly educated." The sound of his voice made her want to run away, it was so promising of pain.

Clara could only cry as he pulled her clothes from her and tied her to the bed. "No noise," he warned her, and left her there. He walked away from the room, shutting the door behind him. He was gone for a very long time, long enough that she started to feel sleepy even though she was cold and naked. She did fall asleep; when he returned he slapped her ass so hard it left a welt, startling her awake.

Clara jerked upright and fell off the bed, landing in a twist on the floor. She yelped in pain and cried again, as he looked down on her calmly. "Have you learned this lesson?"

 _"Please,_ Mister Burke," she said, trying to look sorry. "I have, p-please let me go."

"I doubt it, I really do." He removed his tie and wadded it up, then looked down at her again. "Get up, Clara."

She pushed herself up with her legs, using her elbows to pull herself onto the edge of the bed. Mister Burke grabbed her hair, pulled her head backward, and shoved the tie into her mouth. She muffled out a surprised cry, but he yanked her hair back and she was looking him right in the eyes when he issued the next command.

"You will not make any noise," he said. "But this _will_ hurt, Clara."

She whimpered as he pulled her ass up into the air and squeezed her eyes shut.

He was right. It did hurt.

* * *

The mercenaries and the three of them left the next morning, Clara walking as close to Mister Burke as she dared. Her father had a few bruises on his face and a dried bloodstain around his nose, and was surprisingly quiet. Clara had tried to talk to him, but he'd given her a Look. A Look that she was so familiar with, she understood it meant to be quiet and not say anything to him until he talked to her first. She'd been given that Look too many times not to listen. And after what Mister Burke had done to her... she was especially quiet around him, as well.

Mister Burke was in a good mood as they made their way through the wasteland. Clara figured out from what they said that they were heading for Rivet City, like her father had wanted from the start. It was going to take a few days, with such a large group. There were fights with creatures in the wastes, and a few with raiders. Talon Company kept the threat down, and Clara helped. They camped in abandoned buildings and then at some tall building run by a man named Dukov.

Dukov laid his hands on her. It was when she'd gone to the upstairs area to look around. She was bored and there was nothing for her to do but explore; Mister Burke was having a heated talk with her father. The mercenaries...

They were looking at her like she was food and they were starving. She didn't like it much, but she was used to it so she ignored it. She walked up the stairs and was looking around in one of the bedrooms when Dukov came around the corner and leaned in the doorway.

"You've got a smokin' bod, sugar pie," he said. "How about letting old Dukov rock you to sleep, if you know what I mean? Hah ha!"

He'd scared her, because she hadn't seen him there and she was concentrating on looking around. Her heart was in her throat and she took a shaky, deep breath as she stared at him. "No thank you," she said.

Dukov laughed a loud disgusting laugh and moved into the room, getting too close for comfort. "I know you like getting dick from old men." He gestured at his crotch rudely. "I'll pay you, baby, whatever you want. I take care of my ladies!"

Clara flushed from head to toe. "I'm not a _whore!"_ she said. "Go away, you nasty old man!"

Dukov's jaw clenched and his arms shot out, grabbing her wrists and tossing her against the wall with a thud. She was startled again and it gave him time to move into her, pressing her into the wall. "Watch your language, sweet cheeks. Might get a girl in trouble!"

Clara didn't need the psycho this time. She was frustrated enough already to want to hurt someone, and coupled with her punishment the other night... Her ass was still sore. She grabbed his shoulders, tossed him back without effort, and advanced on him. Dukov backed out of the room and held up his hands, trying to quit the assault, laughing at her. "Hah ha! _Nice!_ Kick my ass!" He grinned and started to pull a weapon on her.

She got even madder, then. Clara didn't exactly remember how, but she found herself holding him by the neck over the railing, pushing him out as far as she could with one hand on the rail and the other squeezing his neck as tightly as she could.

Dukov made all manner of ugly noises, and she scoffed at him. "Learned your lesson," she muttered to herself, and let go of him.

He fell. She was shocked―she hadn't _meant_ to―he lived, at least, with broken bones.

But when Mister Burke found out he'd tried to grope at her, he shot him in the head.

* * *

They made it to the Memorial shortly after dawn after a couple of days, moving slower than ever because her dad had gotten badly hurt. She didn't know how. She tried to smile for him, to make him happier. But he was still giving Mister Burke bad looks and Clara felt guilty.

Clara wasn't told whatever it was her dad was doing at the Memorial. ...Probably thought she wouldn't understand. She hadn't at first, but then she'd found a tin of mentats in an old building and she'd been sneaking them. Mister Burke and her father discussed the plan for the purifier and she figured it out.

Mister Burke was going to punish her if he found out she was using, she knew. But she needed to know what was going on. It was something _important,_ she knew. Her dad told her about Project Purity when they reached the Jefferson Memorial. Dr. Li watched the two of them talking about what needed done while Mister Burke sat back and waited for his moment. He seemed content to let the scientists take a lead.

Clara had to clear out the sub-basement of Super Mutants. She'd seen them before, wasn't too concerned. It wasn't her first time fighting them, and since she went by herself she was able to use the psycho and mentats without worrying much. Her ability to understand what her father and Dr. Li wanted done in the sub-basement was remarked upon by Mister Burke.

"As soon as you are finished," he said, "you and I are going to have a long... _talk,_ love."

He knew she was using again. She wanted to cry.

Clara delayed returning, diverting her focus onto a pipe that needed dealt with. When she did, she found the place crawling with soldiers in black armor. Clara was confused for a moment, but when she was being attacked―

She ducked behind a corner and injected more psycho, and started swinging her sledgehammer. Metal on metal crunched, screams were given―not her screams―and she slammed a path through the soldiers, making her way back to to the Rotunda.

The mentats were wearing off but her psycho was going strong when she burst into the room and bounded up the stairs. Her dad―inside the purifier, and so was― _Mister Burke_ ―what― _?!_

Her dad's injuries. She recalled that as the last bit of mentats faded, her dad being injured so awfully. Mister Burke must have helped him with the equipment in the inside―

It was locked, and she couldn't get in and there was a man in there with a gun and―shots were fired―

 _And her dad's hand on the glass as they all crumpled, falling down!_

Clara started screaming and didn't stop until she'd cut a path through everyone in her way out of the place. She had no voice left, by the time the researchers from Rivet City had dragged her to some place called The Citadel.


	11. At the Point of Death

Note: Creeped myself out writing this.

* * *

He was alive.

It was... an unexpected occurrence, given the circumstances.

Prior to James' attempt to kill everyone inside the purifier, and far before Clara had gone to the basement, James had informed him that Clara was not to remain in his company. That she was too young and far too incapable of understanding what trouble she was getting herself into. Of course, he was familiar with the idea; the father of a woman who was not capable of making sound judgement, protecting her from what he perceived was the Big Bad Wolf.

Most certainly, Burke _was_ the Big Bad Wolf. It was amusing that James had decided to take an upright moral tack, in attempting to free Clara of his deviant attachment.

It was an argument he'd anticipated since their first encounter. Burke had ignored the pointed looks that James had given him for some time, preferring instead to taunt the man by being affectionate with Clara. In safeguarding the investment―Tenpenny saw the value of owning the Memorial, owning another source of clean water―Burke was forced to remain near the man at all times. As such, and owing to Clara's own affinity for him, Burke was able to make the man lose his mind with simple touch.

Clara had been brought along as a security measure. He would rather have her by his side to continue her discipline; her drug use was not only disappointing, but a hindrance to their efforts. With her near, however, her father was more inclined to behave and unlikely to combat the works. If Burke desired him to remain quiet, Burke simply looked to Clara and smiled knowingly. James was smart, he followed without complaint, and waited until Clara was well away before attempting escape.

Burke did not anticipate the man luring him into the purifier, only to attack him. They had been struggling with one another when the Enclave came. The Colonel seemed a reasonable man, but James was intractable to his demands. This was well; Burke was not inclined to let the Enclave take over what promised to be a lucrative opportunity.

He was aware of the efficacy of the Enclave when it came to exterminating opposition. Their particular brand of magnanimity was something he himself would have embraced, had he been born under the correct natal star, and in the correct location. Inexorably, his great works would always brush against the grain of the Enclave.

But James was idealistic as well, and that sort of person often caused the deaths of others. Burke, himself... had done so on occasion, though his ideals were dramatically different than this philanthropic scientist who so longed to bring clean water to the wastes. James activated the purifier in its incomplete state, flooding the control room with radiation and forcing his daughter to watch him die.

It was very nearly magnificent. Such an excruciating thing for her to see. And how noble of her father to kill him in the same dreadful instance.

But... he was _alive._

* * *

The Talon Company mercenaries had either fled, surrendered, or were killed in the ruckus. Burke drew himself up once his bones had stopped cracking, once his flesh was no long melting, and moved himself out of the control room. He examined the vestige of his skin and understood what had happened.

He himself had never had much to say about ghouls; he simply did not _care._ Their tragic appearance was merely a curiosity in the world. There were uses for such beings, though Tenpenny never ordered him to utilize them and so he'd ignored their existence.

Such _pain!_ He was enchanted by the thrill of having survived the radiation. Such pain that he'd suffered... it was exquisite, incomprehensible, and _blasphemous_ in its nature. Something that one could only experience once, that one should appreciate―naturally, he'd have to seek out new clothing; his suit was completely irradiated. But, _the pain!_

He wondered to himself the outcome of this state, should Tenpenny find him so changed. His employment was not rendered null until the completion of the work, however. Regardless of whether Tenpenny wished him to halt the plans or not, he would continue. The work was more important than the bigoted ideals of an old man and the elitist inhabitants of his tower.

There was no reason for him to remain in the purifier, inside the Memorial. He adjusted his suit and located his hat, and set out into the wastes. Such _agony_ with each step! He savored the sensation. It was _à l'article de la mort_ that he would enjoy what he had earned; a privilege, granted unto him through sheer chance. He had lived, and his compatriots were missing; his must locate Talon Company and acquire new guards, and he must find Clara.

She would have survived. He had not found her body among those at the Memorial, and there were far too many Enclave dead within the structure for her to have not escaped. Clara was strong... but her mental state after having seen the death of an important person in her life―she would require special handling after this _tragedy._

Burke paused once outside of the building and mused for a moment. Separate of his physical appearance, he was still indistinguishable from his former self. Such... dramatic corporal change would elicit a negative response from her, he was sure. Clara was of such simplicity, she would not necessarily engage in sophistry when it came time for him to reveal his transformation.

He was not concerned as to whether Clara would appreciate his survival, nor did he care how she would react to his reappearing as a ghoul. He would enjoy the shock in her eyes; he would revel in her disgust, if she was inclined. And he _would_ make her enjoy the change, as well.

After all, she had given herself to him without any thought to the contrary. Who was he to deny her what she _so_ desired?

With a satisfied smile, Mister Burke set off into the wastes.

* * *

Things were never so simple as they appeared. Once he'd vacated the purifier, it was set upon by the Enclave, and his works began to unravel. Clara was not easy to locate, either; she had fled the purifier with the scientists from Rivet City, and had traveled to The Citadel. From there, she had vanished, gone into the wastes. All evidence pointed to her having fled for personal reasons, the death of her father causing her grievance.

Talon Company reported that she was seen heading east; Burke was unsure what conclusion could be drawn from the flight, other than she had perhaps gone back to Tenpenny Tower. He dispatched mercenaries to verify the conclusion, as he took up residence in the building where Dukov had once lived. The man's body was hauled away and his women were gone. More importantly, it was but a stone's throw from The Citadel, and a good deal closer than Tenpenny Tower to the Jefferson Memorial.

He needed to be near the purifier, to watch for an opportunity. It would take a small army to reclaim what the Enclave had taken. Burke's _modus operandi_ was much more stealthy and much less overt. It was a quandary that he spent many hours attempting to solve. How to secure the purifier for Tenpenny? He could not let the matter rest, until he was dead or the purifier was put to better use under new management.

It was a flaw he carried proudly. Being so utterly zealous, so contumacious about the work. It was what had kept him alive thus far, devotedly applying himself to anything and everything that would provide him money, security, and a chance to further his personal goals. Personal goals that now included the woman-child who so loved him, for whatever reason she had to want for his company. He was bemused by the girl. But not so bewitched he couldn't live without her. That would be something Clara would do... which caused him momentary concern. Might she have killed herself, having perceived the death of her father and her lover?

Clara had not gone to Tenpenny Tower, nor had she visited any of her prior places of travel. Burke, while mulling over the problem of the purifier, understood that the Brotherhood of Steel provided the best bet for removing the Enclave. He could not directly approach the Brotherhood with a plan until Clara had returned; her association with her father meant that she might have information of import. There was a lock on the purifier controls and no known person had the key.

Unless Clara knew the code. She would certainly give it to Burke, if she did know. He smiled to himself. She was _truly_ a blessing.

She was also a much friendlier face than his own; he was acutely aware of her innocence and how to utilize it for the furthering of his goals. If Clara was found―and after he disciplined her appropriately for her drug use inside the basement―then he would need her to be beautiful for him. She could infiltrate the Brotherhood and acquire the knowledge required to bring the Enclave to a halt, as well as determine what the purifier needed to be completed.

After which... well, he would not _assume_ as such, but it was likely he would be installed as the supervisor of the facility, along with any person he hired to maintain control. He could guarantee the smooth working of the device, but only with hired help. The purifier was highly technical, and out of his comprehension.

Much like his current existence. Burke was unsatisfied with the condition of being a ghoul, though ending his own life was out of the question. He had assumed _a priori_ that living a life without natural end would be necessarily beneficial. There were many physical changes that he was not enjoying, however.

The lack of skin. The... unblinking nature of his eyes, which was not only painful but would lead to infection. Having had little hair prior to the event, he wasn't as concerned as to the loss of scalp. The itching, which was constant. The loss of his facial features, which made his wearing sunglasses nigh impossible.

The disturbed mental state he found himself slipping into, even when he was attempting to concentrate on business at hand.

Perhaps he should be thankful for the continued benefit of living. But... without Clara around to entertain him, his thoughts were far _darker_ in regards to his own situation. It was unsettling, to think he might require her even as a medicant. He wasn't bewitched; he told himself this daily, even though he found himself imparting more and more time to wondering where she was. If she would come back. And what he might teach her, as punishment for her disobedience.

But Talon Company _would_ find her.

They always did.


	12. Home Sweet Home

Clara didn't know what to do.

She _never_ knew what to do.

She went home. They would know what to do―Amata was at home, Butch was at home, and if she couldn't get back in she would―

Clara never planned that far ahead. She just... went home.

And the door opened for her.

* * *

Heavy legs pushed her into the Vault, stumbling as she pitched against the stairs leading up to the door. She fell onto her hands and sobbed, tears wetting the metal. Her fingers, stiffened with blood―the blood of the people who _killed_ her dad―who _killed―_

They took _him,_ they took Mister Burke, they took _everything_ from her―

Her fingers, stiffened with blood, curled up into fists on the cool metal of the Vault stairs. Clara saw red. Not just the red of the dried blood but a haze of blood in her eyes, drawn from her brain by pain and fear and never knowing what the hell was going on.

Her head hurt so badly she felt her entire skull would pop like a party balloon, like a giant weight was pressing onto the back of her head. She picked up a fist and tightened it, feeling the dried blood crackling against her skin and flaking away.

She slammed it down into the stairs, as hard as she could.

Not even the pain of punching metal was enough to stop the ice that had gripped her chest, filling up her heart with freezing fear. She slammed both hands down onto the stairs, over and over and over, watching her tears fall onto the metal.

It wasn't―

It wasn't _fair!_

She'd―she'd only had Mister Burke for a month. Her dad―she hadn't had him since long before he left the Vault, so long ago it didn't hurt _nearly_ as much as losing―

She sobbed out a gasp, as her fist hit the metal and the skin finally burst, her own blood splashing out onto the stairs. She looked at the blood, dripping evenly out of her hand, and lifted her fist to her eyes to see the cut.

 _Inside._ Inside the Vault, everything was the same. It was always the same.

 _Outside..._ she looked down at the blood again. Outside the Vault, everything was violent and terrible. The violence that had taken him from her was like a bloodstain. Different with each drop, staining forever the thing it landed on. Everything changed all the time and it was bad. She had changed, too.

Clara sat back on her knees and wiped her face of tears, but she only smeared more blood onto her face. She knew she'd cried trails through the blood of the black-armored soldiers, pale streaks showing through a cracked and red face. She had killed them. She had destroyed them, and her voice was raw and tired by the end of the tunnels.

No matter how long or how desperately Dr. Li had begged her to stop screaming, she still had. Now her voice was changed. Ripped from her throat by terror, changed by the unfair death of her father and Mister Burke. Without them, she had no one.

No one... but Amata and Butch. Clara looked up at the door leading into the Vault. Shakily, she stood and looked around, her hand still dripping blood onto the stairs.

Amata would know what she should do.

She wobbled from side to side. But―the Overseer had chased her with a bat. He wouldn't―he wouldn't want to see her. Even though Amata had opened the door for her to return, Amata's dad was still angry at her. He had been so angry he'd tried to kill her.

Clara looked back at the Vault as it slowly pushed back into place, the sound making her head hurt. She was so tired. So sore, so tired, so bloody. The outside had stained her, changed her voice and changed her into something awful. Amata... Amata might not _like_ the new Clara.

She turned her shoulders and looked to the door leading into the Vault. Amata definitely wouldn't like her anymore if she had to kill the Overseer. But, if he came at her with a baseball bat again―Clara would smash his head like a ripe apple.

And then... Clara would have to kill _herself,_ too.

She couldn't bear to cause the same pain to Amata that _she_ had been through.

* * *

She made her way inside the Vault, bloodied and bruised. Officer Gomez took one look at her and walked away without a word. Clara ignored him and shuffled her feet until she got into the Atrium.

Officer Taylor... was an accident, she told herself. He'd tried to kill Freddie. She saw the red haze in her eyes and felt the urge to use again. She needed more psycho―but she didn't have any. Trying to walk around without the drugs made her feel weak and angry. Her temper flared and she was scared of herself.

Her sledgehammer dripped blood onto the ground as she turned to an open door and made her way up the stairs to the Overseer's office. She had to... had to talk to him, first. It felt like the right thing to do. Maybe, if she died... if he killed her... everything would be _better._

Officer Wilkins found her first. Clara didn't care about him. The redness in her eyes was almost complete, now. She was so tired of people trying to kill her. She smashed him into the wall and moved on.

She might have stayed in the haze if she hadn't stumbled into the security office and heard Mr. Brotch yelling at her through the window. _"Clara!"_ he called, banging on the window. "Open the door!"

Her head cleared a little. She remembered how nice Mr. Brotch had been to her. How he'd tried to... tried to make her feel like an adult by asking her on a date. He'd been so polite about the whole thing, and she was regretful that she couldn't have kept seeing him―but she couldn't. She couldn't because of Butch. She _needed_ Butch now. Where was he?

Clara let Mr. Brotch out of the cell. "Been a while, kid," he said, looking as tired as she felt.

She was confused. She found her voice again, and it sounded strange to her. "What's going on," she mumbled. "Everyone's acting funny."

Mr. Brotch looked her up and down, nervously. "Things _changed,_ Clara. After you and your dad left. ...Why did you come back?"

She sniffled a little. "Amata let me in," she said, which was the truth.

"Maybe you can help us, kiddo," he said, and placed an arm across her shoulder. "Been a lot going on... I'll explain it to you. Amata and some of us..."

Ten minutes passed and she found out about the rebels. About the plans to open the Vault so they could get help from the outside world... but there would be no help for them. Not since―not since _she'd_ blown up the scrap metal town, and not since her dad died, and not since―

She cried on Mr. Brotch's shoulder for a moment, after she told him her dad had died. He waited patiently for her to stop, then told her he had to get out of the security office. He'd meet her on the lower levels with the rebels―"In the clinic, Clara. I'll see you. Be a good girl, help us out."

She didn't know what to do. It should have been easy, she thought. But it _wasn't._

Everything inside the Vault had changed just like the outside world had. Clara had changed outside of the Vault. Every person inside the Vault had changed, too. Inside and outside were the same, now. Nothing could go back to the way it was.

She felt the pain in her hand finally catching up to her. The biting feeling of the cut made her feel sharper, made her head clear up even more. Like the drugs, it let her look at what was going on without worry. She breathed out slowly. She still felt a little off, but she felt much better feeling the pain.

As she was leaving the security office she ran headfirst into the Overseer. She didn't mean to knock him over, but she wasn't very good at staying upright―and she was terrified as she stood up and noticed who she'd run into―she lifted her hands up to defend herself―

But he _didn't_ attack. He looked just as tired as Mr. Brotch had, and was not in a very good mood.

The Overseer gave her some lecture on the future of the Vault and her dad having made things difficult. Talked about how Jonas and her dad were "endangering the success and safety of the Vault". Clara listened as carefully as she could, the remaining fuzz in her brain not helping her understand.

"What do you mean, 'future success'?" she asked, quietly.

"Good, you're paying _attention."_ He went off on a long explanation about the Vault. Something about it being important? People who were never supposed to leave, who were the last bit of pure humanity? Clara barely followed him. It sounded too smart for her...

"I had no idea it was so important," she said, her voice sounding more smart than she felt. "Why... why are they rebelling?"

"I just don't know. Don't they realize how dangerous it is, out there? But instead, they would throw away the safety of the Vault's isolation, just to follow in your footsteps." He gave her a mean look and Clara felt her eyes stinging with tears.

"I'll fix it," she said, close to sobbing. "Just tell me what to _do―"_

"Fix what you started," he growled at her. "Talk to Amata, tell her to stop this nonsense."

Clara blinked slowly at him and felt herself starting to cry. "I'll―I'll talk to her," she said, wobbling.

She moved through the lower levels. Pepper, Stanley... Ellen, who was not very nice to her―

Clara ignored them all. Her feet found her back at her old room, looking in through an open door to see Wally Mack standing in her living room. She frowned. "What―"

"What are you doing back?" he asked, interrupting her angrily.

She stared at him for a moment, unsure what to say. Her mouth opened and closed. Wally made a "hmph" noise and said something his dad having been a hero, saving Stanley. Wally Mack's dad had died, too. Amata had shot him, in the security office, when Clara was escaping.

That was all Clara's fault. She'd let Amata take that gun back―Clara didn't know what to say to Wally. She fought back tears and walked away. She'd―she'd hurt so many people since she left the Vault, since her dad left... She sobbed without sound, to herself. It was all too much. She felt like she was going to pass out.

Clara found herself at the stairs going up, up to the clinic. She pulled herself up the stairs and around the corner, and her vision went black for a moment. She could feel herself falling, falling forever, onto the floor―

"I never thought _you'd_ be back," Butch said, as he caught her.

Clara made an awful noise, then fainted.


	13. Just Like Old Times

"Oh, my God!"

He was carrying her to the clinic―even without the doctor, she couldn't just be thrown to the floor. Butch owed her that much. So he carried her, and _man_ she was fuckin' _heavy,_ back to the clinic. Amata met him at the door and fussed over the passed out idiot, while he stood behind the gurney and leaned onto the wall.

She was absolutely covered in blood, and it looked like she had a couple of bullet wounds, too. Butch looked away as Amata began to wipe Clara's face of grime and blood, muttering to herself.

"What happened? Did she say anything?"

Butch shrugged. "Just cried, then passed out."

Amata cleaned her up as best she could. Freddie made his way into the clinic and Amata asked him to find another Vault suit. Clara's was ripped to shreds on her body. Butch tried not to stare. He could see everything above the waist pretty clearly, but hell... He'd seen it before.

She'd been gone for a little over a month. It looked like the outside world had torn her up, but she'd survived. If _Clara_ could make it out there―

 _He_ could, too. Sounded better than staying here with Amata's jackass of a dad and all these _wimps._ He was the one watching their asses, with that gun he'd taken from the security office. The _only_ one. No one else even volunteered to stand guard, not even the Crotch, and he was one of the only older people in the "rebels". One of the ones who should know better than to let the young folk take a stand. Butch snorted to himself.

Clara stirred on the gurney. Butch turned back to her and stared at her, as she turned onto her side and opened those big blue eyes. _Christ―_ she turned those on him and he felt all weak inside. He remembered what he'd made her do―

Suddenly the room was a little too crowded for his blood. He ought to get back to guarding the "rebels", too. He pushed himself off the wall and started to walk away.

Clara's arm shot out and she pulled him back. "Butch," she said, her voice all quiet and scratchy. _"Butch?"_

"Let me go, nosebleed," he muttered, trying to shake her off.

She blinked and turned her head to look at the room, then pulled herself up with the hand on his arm. Goddamn, she was strong! She pulled him into the gurney and he stumbled, falling. Both arms went around his neck as he pitched forward, and she laid her face into the crook of his neck.

"Butch," she sobbed, tightening her grip.

"Someone get this idiot off of me―" he started, _before I lose it―_ that would be embarrassing as hell.

"Clara!" Amata cried. She was at their side in a moment, prying Clara's arms off of Butch and wrapping them around her own. "Clara, I'm so _glad!_ You got my message!"

Clara cried for a little while longer, then wiped her face messily. "What message?" she said, her voice soft and wavering.

"About my father?" Amata looked confused. "If you didn't get the message― _how_ did you get―why did you _come back?"_

Clara stared dully at Amata for a moment. "My dad died," she said, without emotion. "I didn't... I didn't know what else to do."

 _Jesus._ Butch sighed. Still the same old Clara, needing someone to tell her what was what. She'd never had that many original thoughts.

"Butch," Clara said, and her voice grew happier.

She turned to look at him and smiled, slowly, but it was a painful smile to watch. She _still_ liked―dammit, this sucked! He avoided looking at her. Couldn't trust himself. "Keep it down, nosebleed, you'll bring the security down on us," he said, warningly.

Damn, the _last_ fuckin' thing he needed was her outing their secret in front of all these people. He swore to himself. He'd have to stand here until she left, follow her around juts to make sure she didn't blab. Even _if_ Amata knew―

 _Shit._ Amata _didn't_ know. She looked confused at the conversation, and shot a questioning glance to Clara. "What's going on, Clara?" she asked, her tone leading.

Clara blinked tiredly and looked back to Amata. "I got into the Vault by putting in your name," she said.

"Lucky," Butch muttered.

"Why are you covered in _blo_ ―you know what, nevermind. Are you here to help us?" Amata asked.

"I will," Clara croaked out.

"Good. Here." Amata handed her a new outfit. "As much as your... blessings might come in handy, you need to change. We'll talk when you're done." She gave Butch a pointed look, as Clara started unzipping the remainder of her Vault suit.

"Hey, I might never get the chance," he grinned, trying to act normal. "Besides, there ain't no privacy here, anyway."

Amata growled under her breath and turned to Clara. The growl turned into a gasp, of surprise and horror.

What _the fuck._ She was covered in bruises from her stomach down to her knees, deep-colored blue ones and some fresher purples. A few bullet wounds here and there broke the pattern, bleeding as they were disturbed. Hell, she even had bruises on what bits of her ass showed through the underwear. It was _nasty,_ and worth the swear word Amata spat out. Butch winced at her, watching her bend over to work her legs through.

Clara had looked amazing, before, but now... _now_ she was damaged goods, cast-off clothes. Someone had beaten the ever-loving _tar_ out of her, leaving her skin with ghastly evidence of how _bad_ the outside world really was. Butch couldn't look for too long―even if he'd liked to look before, this was _too much―_

Amata stilled her hands as they pulled the Vault suit off. "Who did this―what _happened?"_ she asked her, breathlessly.

Clara stared up at Amata and burst into tears. She babbled something about punishment, and that she'd earned it. "I―I had to take my lumps," she said. "I was bad." Her eyes jumped to Butch.

He walked away without a fuckin' word.

* * *

About half an hour later, Amata came by to speak with him. At first she didn't say anything, but he watched her face all jumbled and saw she was having a lot of emotions. Women! He rolled his eyes and wondered what the hell she wanted, but kept lookout on the hallway until she started talking.

"Clara's dad died," she said. "I know you heard that. She... was being taken care of by some man. ...He was beating her." Amata wiped her face on her sleeve and sucked snot up into her nose.

"What did you expect?" Butch muttered. Shit, he'd figured she'd be _dead_ the minute she got out. And he hadn't... really treated her decently, so maybe she figured that was how it worked. Clara was simple. She didn't know except what she'd been taught.

Shit. _He'd_ taught her how to be abused. He groaned to himself, playing with his switchblade nervously. He really hoped Clara hadn't told Amata about them. Amata knew how to hurt with her words something fierce, and he didn't want to get chewed out by some little girl because Clara was dumb.

"The man who beat her is dead too," Amata sighed. "Look, someone's gotta go with her―"

Butch turned and the leather of his jacket creaked with the motion. He flipped the switchblade around and closed it, shoving it into a pocket, and stared her down. "The _hell_ you on about?"

"She hasn't got anyone to rely on, out there. We have to close the Vault. And..." Amata looked away, glancing back at the clinic. "She can't _stay,"_ she added, lamely. "It would be... too much."

"Thought we was _opening_ the door, daddy's girl," he said angrily. "All these fuckin' fights we've been having―what the hell, Amata!" He gave her a mean look, balling his hands into fists.

Amata stared right back at him. "After what Clara told me about the outside world," she said, calmly and carefully, "I don't think it would be a good thing to leave the door open."

"What about _me!?"_ His hands shook, fingernails digging into his palms. "I ain't stayin' here to be a goddamn _hairdresser_ my whole life!" ...His voice shook on the word, admitting it. He hated that. He hated being looked down on by all these assholes, he hated being around all of them. He hated this whole _fuckin' place―_

"That's why you should go with Clara," Amata said, without a hitch. "Go with her, make sure she's okay. She knows how to get around. She can help you―and you can keep her out of trouble―"

"Not on your damn _life,"_ he muttered, and shoved his hands into his pockets. "She's too much fuckin' trouble."

"Well―I don't know, Butch! I'm trying to give you an easy out―" Amata's hands balled up into fists and she trembled. "And Clara―even if you beat the hell out of her when we were younger, she still _likes_ you, you jerk!" She was real angry now.

He rolled his eyes up and stared back down the hall, away from her. "She's a goddamn idiot, Amata," he said. "She doesn't know what is right or wrong. She just does shit and gets herself in trouble―you saw them bruises―and she'll just get _my_ ass killed."

"You _owe_ her," Amata said.

Fuck _him._ She _had_ told her. Butch coughed in surprise. As many times as he'd thought the secret was out, he'd never really believed. Amata put her fists on her hips and stared him him, while he avoided making eye contact.

"You owe her for all those times you beat her up―"

 _"She_ started them fights!" he shot back. "Gettin' on me about my _mom―"_

Amata's hand shot out and slapped him across the face. Not hard, but just enough. "Your mother is an _awful_ person, and you know it, Butch!" she said, not bothering to restrain herself. "She's been drinking herself to death your _whole_ life, and you deserve better than _her!_ And―and _Clara_ deserves better than some stupid _boy_ who's only ever wanted to get into her pants!"

Butch closed his eyes. _Well..._ yeah. She was still hot. Still had amazing tits. Still had those enormous eyes that looked at you with innocent trust and she still... shit, she _still_ liked him enough to want to hug him. God, she was so _dumb._

"About all she's good for," he said under his breath.

Amata slapped him again. He took the hit. It was a mark of pride for him not to hit her back, even though he would have fought back any other time. He wasn't about to start a fight with Amata over Clara, especially when―when Clara was around to get involved. She'd make it so much worse.

And she might beat the hell out of _him_ for laying a hand on Amata. She'd done it before. Times past, she'd walloped him pretty good, even for only hassling Amata.

"The _hell_ do you want from _me?"_ he asked, meanly. _"I_ ain't gonna do _her_ no good out there, you said as much!"

"Take her out of the Vault and then― _I don't know_ ―make sure she stays somewhere safe!" Amata sighed in frustration. "Just―get the hell out!"

He shook his head. This was so dumb. Just like Clara. _"Fine._ I'm _gone._ You won't see me no more." Butch sauntered off to the clinic. "This one's on _you,_ Amata," he shot back.

* * *

Clara was sitting on the gurney, and gave him a heartbreaking smile when he came to get her. "Butch!" she said, happily.

"C'mon, nosebleed," he said, gesturing for her to follow. "You and me, we're gonna get out of here. Start our _own_ gang. Everyone's gonna wanna join."

Clara's mouth opened in a grin. "Really?" She closed her mouth and frowned. "But... what about the Tunnel Snakes?"

He scoffed. "We won't be in tunnels no more, now will we?" he told her, stupidly.

"No," she agreed. She hopped down. "Amata is staying?"

"Yeah. It's just gonna be you and me," he muttered, and pulled her to the door.

"You gotta come see my home," she was saying, as they walked toward the exit. It was Clara leading him out into the world, now, her enthusiasm taking hold.

He... He really _had_ missed her, though. Watching her pulling his hand to the door, watching her face light up in happiness, the blood washed off and the tired eyes and confusion gone―it was just like old times. Just like old times―

Old times when he'd been just as bad as that guy who had beat her half to death. _Using_ her. He felt like shit as she opened the door. He was so fuckin' screwed, now. Didn't think he could live with himself for all the shit he'd done.

"It's gonna be real bright!" she said. She stopped suddenly. "Butch?" she asked, her raw voice wobbling.

"What, Clara?"

"You..." She smiled a tiny sweet smile at him. "You'll tell me what to do, right? Just like old times?"

 _"...Goddammit."_


	14. Promise

"This is _crazy,"_ Butch yelled, over the gunfire. "How in the _hell_ did you manage to live for a month out here?!"

Clara shrugged and leapt out of cover again, swinging her sledgehammer at the nearest raider. They'd stumbled onto a whole group of them out in the wastes, in a house that was falling apart. Clara smashed her way through the remaining two while Butch shot at them from his rock cover.

She thought it was kind of funny that he wasn't very good at being tough, at least not when it came to fighting off various things in the wastes. She rummaged through the raider's clothes for ammo and chems.

"Yes!" she said, when her fingers closed around a psycho injector. She wasn't feeling all that great about having to kill the raiders. But the mentats she'd managed to scrounge up were helpful in keeping her sane. With the psycho... she smiled in relief. She'd do a hell of a lot better, now that she had that.

"Where do you wanna go now?" she asked Butch, as the psycho injected into her system. She breathed out slowly and tossed the injector away.

"The hell was that?"

Clara shrugged. "Helps," she said. "You want a drink? This one has some whiskey."

"Yeah, whatever," he muttered, and walked off to the ruined house, looking up at it.

Clara checked her Pip-Boy and coughed, the swirling dust of the encounter rising up to her face. "Butch?" she asked, glancing at him over a shoulder. "You okay?"

"Don't know, nosebleed," he said. She could barely hear him.

He was unhappy. She knew he was unhappy the minute she asked him to tell her what to do; he'd sworn and stopped talking to her for a long time. It made Clara unhappy to see him so down. She finished stripping the bodies on their stuff and walked over to stand beside him.

"This shit's all fucked up, innit?" he muttered.

"You get used to it, after a while," she said. "You want to camp here tonight?"

"I'd probably die out here if you didn't watch out for me," he replied. "Whatever, nosebleed."

"Don't call me that," she said. "I'm not _nosebleed._ I'm Clara."

He pushed aside a bit of wood and climbed into the ruined house, looking around. "You're damn lucky your name don't rhyme with bitch."

Clara scoffed in disbelief. "Who called you that?"

Butch looked around for a moment longer and went upstairs without answering. She sighed. So far, this wasn't as nice as she had anticipated. Butch had something on his mind, something big, and she didn't know what it could be, but she didn't like him acting so depressed.

She was trying so hard herself, to get over the pain of the deaths... to get over the pain of existing in the wastes. Of not being allowed to stay in the Vault, of having to go outside and use chems and kill to survive―she shook her head, willing the bad thoughts away. The high of the psycho made her feel more confident.

"Butch?" she called as she walked up the ramp to the upper floor. "What's the matter?"

He'd sat down against a "window" and was looking out, playing with his switchblade. "You fuckin' _told,"_ he muttered.

"What?"

"You told Amata what I did―" he snapped the blade closed and ran a hand through his hair. "You told her I messed around with you." His hands were shaking. She didn't know why.

"I didn't," she said, and tears sprang to her eyes. "I _didn't,_ Butch, I _swear!"_

 _"Pssh."_ He didn't make eye contact. "She knew. She kicked me out! I―look, I wanted to leave the Vault, but not like _that―"_

Clara dropped her sack of goods and went to his side, throwing her arms around his waist because he twisted away from her at the last moment. "I didn't want to leave, either," she said, pressing her face into his shoulder blade. "I'm glad you came with me, though."

"Shit," Butch grumbled, turned back to her, and laid a hand across her shoulder.

"I could make you happy," Clara murmured, looking up at him. "If you want. You don't seem very happy right now."

Butch made a bad face. "Man, is that _all_ you ever think about?"

She looked down and let him go, moving away. "I'm good at it," she muttered to herself, frustrated. It was the only thing she _was_ good at. Mister Burke had always said she was good at it―Clara sighed and looked through her sack for some food, and passed Butch some beans. It was gonna be a long night, her stuck with her own thoughts. At least she had the chems to keep her happy. She didn't know how to help Butch.

Time passed slowly as they ate, and Clara watched the sun setting, thinking about her first night out in the wastes. She hadn't known as much then as she did now. Butch must be feeling the same way, lost and confused. She felt bad for him. Her first couple of days, alone... she'd wanted to cry every minute of it. But Butch wouldn't cry. He was a boy.

The silence was broken, after a time, by Butch. "Guess you ain't a virgin no more, huh?" he asked.

Clara nearly choked on her food, and spat up old beans onto the metal floor. She stared at him, in the closing darkness. _"What?"_ she asked.

"Guy was taking care of you," he said, staring at his can. "Guess you know what it's all about, now."

Clara flushed. "I―" she stopped herself and sputtered out a breath. "...I'm not." She had a thought then, and her face drained of blood. Was she supposed to―was she supposed to save herself for him? "I―I'm sorry, Butch―I didn't _think―"_

"I'm not gonna hit you," Butch said, quietly. He tossed the can out into the wastes and leaned back on the metal floor, laying himself out. He was silent for a moment, before he said, "I shouldn't have hit you, before."

"You didn't treat me bad," she said, a little relieved that she wasn't going to get hit. The bruises―Amata had given her med-x to help with the pain, so she'd been a little out of it before they'd left the Vault. The bruises were pretty terrible, she knew. But she... she'd deserved her punishment. _Hadn't_ she?

"Mister Burke hit me pretty hard," she muttered to herself.

"He beat the shit out of you," Butch replied, angrily. "Flat-out attacked you. Wasn't right of him."

"I shouldn't have bugged him." Clara felt the mentats fizzing through her brain, telling her that what he'd done was wrong. She didn't want to think that she'd been attacked. Mister Burke had... he'd made things alright for her, for a while. "I know he―he loved me, in his own way."

Butch snorted. "You sound like my mom," he groaned. "Always making excuses. The asshole didn't deserve you." He turned his head away and Clara put her food down, moving across the floor to sit beside him as he lay on the floor.

"He's dead," she whispered. "I don't―I don't want to think badly of him―" Even when he'd made her blow up Megaton. Even when he'd tied her down and gone over every inch of her privates with a belt. Even when he'd... even when he'd made her have sex with him after, promising more punishment if she didn't. It had hurt even more as he grabbed at her bruised hips―she'd known at the time she'd deserved it. Even though he'd done _bad things..._ she _still―_

Butch and Amata thought she was being hurt. ...Amata was very smart, but Clara didn't think she was as smart as Mister Burke. And Butch... Clara laid herself down beside him and curled up close. Butch wasn't smart compared to Amata. He definitely wasn't smart compared to Mister Burke.

But Clara trusted Butch. She'd known him her whole life. If he thought what Mister Burke had done was wrong, then it _must_ have been. Which meant him being dead was... a _good_ thing? She wasn't sure. It felt wrong to want someone to be dead because they were a bad person.

Butch ran a hand down her shoulder and pulled her close to him, her back against his chest. He felt comfortable. Like her teddy bear. _Shoot,_ she'd left it behind again! She made a frustrated noise and felt Butch's chest moving against her back.

"Clara," he said, his voice strained.

"What?" she asked.

"I..." He sighed. The rush of hot air down the back of her neck made her shiver. "I promise I won't hurt you like _that,_ ever."

"Why?" She turned her head and stared at him through the corner of her eyes. Why would he need to make a promise like that―

Butch's jaw clenched. "...You're too damn _dumb_ to know better," he muttered. "But... I like you all the same."

Clara shook her head. "I know I'm... dumb," she said, slowly. She smiled tiredly, and turned around to face him. She ran her hands up and down his jacket, feeling the leather. "I like you, too," she added. "Even when we were kids and we beat each other up."

"You ain't gonna get me _killed,_ right?" he asked, running a hand along her cheek.

"I won't try to," she said, pouting. He was being rude. Same as always.

Butch chuckled softly. "Alright. I guess that's the best I get." He tousled her hair and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. "Let's get some sleep, I'm tired as all hell."

"Me, too," she murmured, and yawned.

"Good night, nosebleed."

"Good night, Butch."

* * *

Clara took Butch along the water's edge the next day, as close in to the D.C. ruins as she dared. Butch hadn't ever seen any of the monsters that roamed the water, the centaurs, the Mirelurks, the Super Mutants. The raiders were the most trouble. Butch got shot a couple times and Clara's stimpaks were dwindling a little too fast for comfort.

She chewed on her thumbnail and tried not to think about what would happen if she ran out completely before they made it to Rivet City. Especially because they had to go near the purifier and the Enclave―and they couldn't afford to go through the Metros with all the raiders and ghouls.

Butch almost screamed when he saws his first ghoul. Clara was a little confused. He couldn't tell that they had been people, at first, and had unloaded a whole clip into the first one they'd found wandering around. The anger he had―she wondered if he was scared of them?

She put the thought out of her head as they made their way around the Anchorage Memorial. With a small yelp, she pulled Butch back against the brick base at the top, hiding under the statue. Talon Company was all over the place. Why were they wandering around so much? She wasn't afraid of them, but there were just so _many_ of them―

"What's this?" she heard a voice say. "...Hot _damn!"_

Three Talon Company men came 'round the corner and confronted her and Butch. Butch held up his gun, but Clara put her hand out to stop him. "If they haven't shot us yet, they won't," she muttered. That much she remembered the mercenaries saying, before.

"Ah! The girl! Been looking for you!" the leader said, and grinned. "That bonus is _ours,_ boys!"

A short cheer rose. "What do you mean?' Clara asked, confused. Why would they be looking for her?

"You're worth a nice bit of caps," the leader said. "Now, you gonna come with us, or is this gonna have to be the _hard_ way?"

Clara stood a little straighter. "Who's looking for me?" she asked, angrily.

The leader grinned and raised his eyebrows. Clara's blood ran cold as he told her, "Mister Burke, of course, sweet cheeks!"

She opened her mouth and closed it and then felt all the blood draining from her face. "He's―but he's dead!"

"Not dead _enough!"_ The leader laughed. The other mercs started laughing too, and Clara felt faint again.

"What's going on, Clara?" Butch asked her, in a low tone.

She remembered when Dukov had tried to touch her. She knew what would happen if Mister Burke found out Butch had even tried to hug her, or had spent the night sleeping beside her―or that she'd let him kiss her, even on the forehead―

 _"Run,_ Butch," she whispered hoarsely, and raised her sledgehammer up.

"Just... _run!"_


	15. Je Ne Sais Quoi

Note: I find it easier to write crazy people when I'm sleepy. Less creepy. May have more mistakes, though. Mind me.

* * *

Of _course,_ they found her.

Burke's face crinkled in the perimortem state it occupied, as one of the mercenaries reported that another group had just confronted Clara outside of the Memorial. It would be very shortly that he meet with her, once more. He must... compose himself.

It had been difficult for him, to maintain his composure. The... ghoulification process had taken away some of his modicum of self-control. It was surprising, and very upsetting, for him to realize that he might not be in full control of his mental acuity, any longer. And more disturbing that he could not delay or abut the conundrum.

He felt it was partially Clara's fault. Not for having been a part of the dire events that lead up to his becoming a ghoul; neither he or she could have understood what would happen in entirety. He would not blame her for her father's inane action of martyrdom. But she had been on his mind, constantly. He found her at fault for being so infectious like a virus, for having gotten under his skin like a splinter he could not remove.

While he may have instigated the relationship, she was the one who so desired it. She had a specific brand of _je ne sais quoi_ , that he appreciated was too much for his aging body. She required so much... care, and he'd let himself become far too invested in her.

Well. He wouldn't let her go. He was in for a penny, in for a pound, with the beautiful young idiot. He would most certainly continue to enjoy her as he saw fit until he either killed her, or she died as a result of violence in the wastes.

Another problematic concern on his mind; he refused to believe he was obsessing over the girl, but his fantasies had taken on a very bloody turn more recently. He was... likely to kill her anyway, once she returned, if he acted on those fantasies. His smiled widened. Maybe it would not be _so_ terrible to have her dead under his hands as he taught her his final lesson.

There was a definitive beauty in causing death in such a manner. He knew how much pain she could reasonably take before she became nothing more than an animal. He was committed to the effort, the discipline. He appreciated her ability to tolerate pain. She would have much more, before he was done.

Clara had been appropriately subdued, with the last lesson. He'd enjoyed the sensation of being in such control of her, up until the Memorial and she'd begun using chems again. He would not abide her using such vile substances; a drink every now and then was something to be expected of a working man, but chems served only to dull the mind and removed what semblance of humanity Clara had. The med-x had left her enervated and helpless, and everything else transformed her from a simple dullard to a more dangerous and more intractable child. He regretted ever turning her onto the drugs, to perform the necessary work with the bomb.

But it could not be changed, it was in the past. He released the negativity and focused on the future. She _would_ stop using. If he had to keep her prisoner until she no longer felt the urge, if he had to mind her constantly, he would. That much, at least, was simple. Easy to plan for and to his liking.

Should she die... well, he couldn't predict the future.

He was satisfied as to his ruminations. He allowed for her to be brought to him.

* * *

Clara screamed when she first saw him. He did not know what she might have expected, but his peculiar appearance drew a short scream from her. It was... amusing, how her eyes moved back and forth across his face, across the lips he no longer possessed that she had so loved to watch. How her mouth twitched as he spoke, as she heard his new voice. How the tears in her eyes were constant and ever threatening to overflow. He took a moment to savor it, before acknowledging her fear.

"Your concern is _understandable,_ love," he said, as he drew a mangled finger across her jawline. "Such circumstance could not have been foreseen."

She and the boy she'd been traveling with were sitting in the lobby of the building, under the heinous decor that Dukov had installed. Burke had left it alone; he did not anticipate being in the building long enough to require it changed. The yellow light of Dukov's distasteful lamp illuminated both Clara and this boy, and he most certainly _was_ a boy. He carried himself far too loosely, and wore such an expression of attitude... Burke could not recall ever having been that idiotic, when he was young.

The boy stared at him, unabashed fear in his eyes past the attitude. He had no reason to dislike Burke. Burke mused on his own intimidating appearance for a moment, but did not remove his eyes from Clara. Perhaps, if she thought he were dead, she had moved on to this... deplorable specimen of mankind. That was intolerable, and would be rectified.

"You did not even return to the purifier to remove your father's body," Burke told her, chidingly. "You only left, and you did not look back."

"I―" she flushed and looked down at her knees. The Talon company man who held her shoulder, pinning her to the spot, glanced up at Burke.

He waved a hand to remove the man from the room. "Take our... guest, outside. Hold onto him for now. I will speak with him after I am finished with Clara."

"Hey, _what―!"_ the boy fought, pulling a tiny switchblade from somewhere inside the leather jacket he wore. Burke sighed as the Talon men had to hit him over the head―such _boorish_ behavior―and drag his unconscious body away.

Clara started to cry and did not stop, balling her fists up to her eyes and making all manner of pitiable noise. Burke turned his attention back to her once they were completely alone. "Do you have any considerable excuse for not returning to finish the work? I understand that you had to flee. I do not consider that an issue. But you..." He lifted her chin up to stare into her big blue eyes, filled with confusion and fear as they so often were. "You did not return to the Citadel to aid the Brotherhood of Steel in removing the Enclave from your father's―and my―works."

"I―" She blinked rapidly and her face contorted in disgust. She did not care for his touching her. He had expected that. "I went home, Mister Burke―they needed my help."

He dropped her chin and crossed his arms, staring down at the top of her head. "And you emerged from the place that had so _wanted_ you, that they'd chased you away with a bat... with your new 'friend'?"

 _"No―"_ She shuddered and looked panicked. "Butch is just―we went to school together―"

"No, Clara," he said, his face hardened by the physical effect of radiation, unable to make the expression he so wished. He was loathe to let himself go to the emotion, to provide himself the luxury of losing himself to anger, so that she might understand. Losing himself to base emotion was unacceptable.

Clara was the emotional one, in the relationship. It was worsened by her chem use... and she _was_ using again. Her pack was bulging with a telltale injector, peeking from the opening. Burke was disappointed but not surprised.

He―he pushed himself to come back from the tangent onto the matter at hand. The boy and her arriving together meant that they had been together, alone, in the wastes. He was fully aware of how Clara kept herself _occupied_ when bored. It was almost certain the two had slept together, and he was very angered by the thought.

"No. The boy is more than _that,_ my love. When you arrived at Tenpenny Tower, you were wearing the same leather jacket he wears now, with the same despicable emblem on the back. You would not have had such an article if you were not more than classmates." He lifted her up under her shoulder from the floor. She trembled violently at his touch. Had he an eyebrow, he would have raised it.

"Do you no longer wish to be mine?" he asked, his tone dangerous. Even a simple mind such as hers should understand the sound, the promise of violence inherent.

"I―" she sniffled. _"Please―"_ She held her hands up in a begging manner. "Please, just let Butch _go―"_

"How droll," he muttered. "What sort of name is that for a child?" He released her and appraised her appearance. "You are in no position to be making demands, Clara."

She shuddered again. "He's just―he's like me, he's not smart." She wiped her face messily and glanced up at him. "He'll―he'll get killed out there, _anyway―"_

Burke rather liked that she was fighting him, that she was trying to push back. It made the next part of his plan that much easier. He lifted a hand and backhanded her across the face, feeling the gratification as he connected with her skin, almost losing himself to the bliss of causing her pain. "Intelligence has no bearing on the outcome of this development," he said, coldly. "You've been very... _very_ bad, my love."

She sobbed as she lay on the floor, covering her face. "I _promised_ him!" she moaned out.

She still fought? How moronic. "And you promised that you had learned your lessons," he snarled, leaning down to bring his face closer to her. "Which makes you _twice_ a liar, doesn't it, Clara? I do so hate to make your... little 'friend' have any hope that he will live another day, but you... you must _understand."_

She sobbed harder, and curled up on the floor. Burke pinched the skin above his nasal cavity as he righted himself, staring down at her pathetic form. After a moment of relishing her misery, he ordered her up. She rose to her feet and wiped both her eyes, blubbering.

"Stop this foolishness," he commanded. "You'll be in more pain than you've ever known before, if you will not behave like a good girl."

Clara gasped and her heart-shaped face rose to his, as he stood staring at her. "No," she said, finally, panting with fear. "No!"

He struck at her again, losing his head to his anger. She caught his hand, and threw him back easily. His eyes narrowed on her, as best they could. "You do not want to do this," he growled, his voice becoming more terrible and ghoulish.

"I'm _not―"_ She shrieked out as she lifted her hand above her head. _"I'm_ _not yours, anymore!"_

He had not anticipated she would fight him, physically. He stepped backward and out of her reach as she hit out clumsily, knocking herself to the side in a stumble. "You must rethink this, Clara," he said. "Death can be _so_ messy. And you will not be given a second chance, as I have!"

 _"I'm done!"_ she screamed out, and launched herself at him. Burke sighed in annoyance, and brought out his pistol.

He had underestimated her. She pushed him backward into the stairs, forcing him onto his back, and knocked the gun from his hands. Clara shrieked at him like a banshee as she began to hit him over and over again, her words gibberish in her mouth.

He grinned in anticipation. She _would_ kill him.

And he _would_ relish in the pain.


	16. I'm Clara

Note: I hope this is an adequate end. I've been struggling to finish this in-between birthday hangovers and the husband jokingly referring to "Zomburke", which overall, makes it very hard to concentrate.

* * *

Clara couldn't take it anymore. Once Mister Burke―how was he still _alive,_ why was he a ghoul like Gob in Megaton?―once Mister Burke started talking about how she'd been _bad_ she knew it wasn't going to end well. She knew she'd be punished from the moment she heard he was alive but she was so scared of his new way of talking―

He sounded ten times worse than he had _before,_ to her. Maybe it was the mentats she had taken before they reached the Anchorage Memorial that helped her to understand him better. But she could hear in his voice that he was losing control, losing his mind, and she was stuck in the middle of that. Stuck in the middle of a powerful man and her own want to be with him― _she'd_ started it. She _must_ finish it.

He was a ghoul now, and he looked like those ghouls that she'd seen in the Metro, one bulging eye unblinking on her face, the other sunk deep. He had no patches of skin left, it was entirely gone, and he'd lost so much weight―but he was still _talking._ Words that she feared he would say―

Butch fought, he would always fight. He was always messing with someone in the Vault, always trying to pick a fight. He sometimes won but against the Talon company she knew he wouldn't be able to win, and she was scared for _him_ too.

But mostly she was scared of Mister Burke, and even though she wasn't scared of pain, she was scared of him trying to hurt her because she knew what would happen after. She... she'd thought he was dead and she'd grieved, but he wasn't going to accept that. He would want to be in control of her again, and she was―she was _done_ with that, Butch told her no one would ever have to tell her what to do ever again. He wasn't gonna tell her what to do, because she knew more about what needed done to stay alive than he _ever_ had.

And Clara was suddenly the one in charge, the one saving him from death, telling him what to do. Butch was... he was _hers,_ now, and not the other way around. Clara felt strange about it but the mentats helped her to understand. She was the one calling the shots. Butch was willing to let dumb old Clara run the show.

Now she knew why Mister Burke had wanted to take control of her. And why he _shouldn't._

She stared at Mister Burke, hearing his words and trying not to lose her head but after he started talking about pain, she couldn't do it anymore. She'd promised Butch she wouldn't get him killed, she'd promised she would help him to survive, she'd _promised―_

She was tired of people telling her to do bad things. It was her turn to tell people what to do, and she knew she was a good person. Always had been. Mister Burke was a bad man. He was always going to be a bad man, like Butch said, beating her and making her do things that she wouldn't have otherwise. She'd thought that it was the only way to keep herself alive.

Because she was dumb, but with the mentats she wasn't anymore. She knew what to do for herself, now.

She couldn't feel herself moving when she started shrieking and hitting at Mister Burke. She'd pushed him down on the stairs in Dukov's Place and was hitting him over and over, hearing him laughing and not knowing what else to do. It―it felt _right_ to beat him as he'd beaten her, smash his face in, slam her fists into that face so messed up―

But Clara was a good person and he wasn't fighting back. She couldn't keep doing that. She backed off of him after a moment, and his laughter died away. He laid out on the stairs, his suit moving with his breathing, blood everywhere.

She felt sick to her stomach. She didn't―she didn't want to _kill_ him. She wasn't a bad person.

She had to help _Butch―_

* * *

The Talon Company mercenaries were sitting around the outside of the building as she slipped outside, and lifted her sledgehammer up. The first one got it the worst, her strength still raging from adrenaline and psycho coursing through her brain. His head exploded into an unrecognizable mess of blood and gore as she wound up and pinned him to the nearby pillar.

The fight was on. "What the _hell―"_ the leader of the group yelled in surprise as the other two stood and grabbed their rifles, turning to face her.

Clara wasn't happy. Didn't want to have to kill them. But they were guarding Butch, who had woke up from the knock to his head and was staring at Clara with a surprised look on his face. He was tied up but his feet were free, and he pushed himself backward into the barrier outside the building. Clara swung her sledgehammer around as the Talon Company men opened fire.

It was over in a matter of moments, really, and she stood on the stairs with her sledgehammer bloody again. Her stomach was bubbling and she really, _really,_ just wanted to go lie down and sleep for a while.

Butch's muttering caught her ears before she could fall to her knees. With a few short steps she was at his side, untying him. He swore up and down and grabbed her pack off her back―

Oh, she had been shot. Butch was injecting her with the last two stimpaks and wiping her face of blood, staring up at her from a bent position.

"I'm glad you aren't hurt," she mumbled.

"Screw that! You kill that _bastard?"_ he asked, pushing her hair out of her face. She hadn't noticed it.

"No, I coul―"

 _"Why?!"_ he groaned, and stared at her, incredulously. "He wanted to _kill us!"_

"I can't," she said, blinking slowly and closing her eyes. "I can't kill someone who won't fight back―It's not good. I _am_ good."

"Well, you―" Butch started, but his words were cut off and a long strangled noise came from him. Clara opened her eyes and shrieked in surprise and anger―

Mister Burke had come out of the building, looped a piece of wire around Butch's neck, and was pulling him backward into the door. Clara stood there dumbfounded for a moment―she hadn't _thought―and now―_

Burke's laughter echoed in her head as Butch reached out to her, before the doors closed.

The last little bit of the psycho and mentats fizzled out of her brain and she sobbed for a few seconds before she realized once again: _She_ was in charge. _She was in charge._

She grabbed into her pack and looked for more chems. She needed more chems, needed to take some more mentats, so she knew what to do! She needed chems―her hand closed around something and she pulled it out in confusion.

A... grenade? of some kind. It was made with an old tin can and had the word "radiation" written on the side. She blinked back tears and stared at it, and then she knew that Butch was being strangled to death right now and she had to do _something! ANYTHING!_

Clara kicked the door open and leveled her sledgehammer in one hand, the grenade in the other. She stared mulishly into the room, her eyes seeking out the ghoul and Butch. Burke hadn't gotten very far, was backing away into the room slowly with Butch kicking and grunting and dragging his legs against the end tables and everything he could grab at.

"Mister Burke, you have been a _bad person,"_ she said, slowly, loudly.

Mister Burke's head snapped up at her and he grinned a terrifying grin of insanity at her. "How _adorable,"_ he said, and jerked up on the wire. Butch gagged and his eyes started to rolled up into his head.

Clara held up the grenade and looked at him. "I've got the right punishment for you," she said. "It's gonna _hurt."_

"Darling Clara, you _think_ you are being especially threatening right now," he croaked out, his hands on the wire shaking with his laughter. "I highly doubt you would even _know_ how to use such a device!"

She tilted her head and stared down at Butch. He moved one hand down to his jacket pocket, still struggling, and pulled out his switchblade. Clara flicked her eyes back up to Mister Burke and smiled as sweetly as she could, through the tears and blood and brain matter she was sure was all over her face. "I blew up a whole city, once," she said, softly. "How hard could it be to blow up one man?"

Butch's hand was moving now, and Clara activated the grenade as Butch jammed his toothpick right into Mister Burke's knee, causing him to stumble. He sliced at Mister Burke's hands and he dropped the wire, and Butch scrambled away from the ghoul toward Clara.

She threw the grenade and put her arm out to shield Butch as he made it behind her. Mister Burke turned and saw the grenade, saw it land directly in front of him and then it _exploded―_

The room was filled with a blinding blue light. Butch yelped in surprise and Clara held her arm up to shield her eyes, feeling the warm air rushing toward her and smelling the sweet sugar of soda-pop. She blinked away the blurry vision the explosion gave her and then staggered. He was _still―!_

Mister Burke was standing tall in the midst of the explosion, his hands out to the side, laughing. "You _stupid_ girl!" he roared, opening that one bulging eye as wide as he could.

 _"What the hell did you do, Clara!?"_ Butch was groaning.

She wasn't sure. That wasn't how it was _supposed_ to go―

Mister Burke _laughed_ and _laughed_ and _laughed―_

And then his laugh became a gurgle, and a raspy growl, and he slowly hunched in on himself, curling his hands inward and his knees outward. He looked exactly like a feral ghoul, up to and including the slack-jawed look on his face. Clara grabbed her sledgehammer with both hands and set her feet.

He had gone feral with the radiation of the grenade. She could kill him now. She sighed in relief, and her feet began to propel her into the room, away from Butch―

* * *

After, Butch and she made their way into Rivet City and promptly collapsed onto the couch inside the stairwell. Butch was still laughing, and Clara was so happy she could care less about the gore that covered her and made her stink like a pile of Brahmin poop.

She was lucky. Very lucky. He must have been so close to turning feral as it was, and then she'd gone and tipped him over, and she didn't have to worry about killing a person who might have once loved her in his own way―he wasn't anything other than a mindless animal.

Clara dropped the sledgehammer and slumped back onto the couch, and turned to Butch. "I'm pretty good at keeping promises," she said, tiredly.

"I thought we were both dead," Butch said, chuckling his last bit out, and ran a hand over his hair as he plopped himself down beside her.

"No way," Clara said, smiling to herself. "No way would I let _my_ Butch get killed." She wrapped herself around him and buried her face in his leather jacket.

"Oh, that's―" Butch groaned and tried to peel her off of him. "You're covered in all that _shit,_ nosebleed!"

"I don't care," she muttered, and squeezed.

"Oof!" he grunted out and then pinched her ass as hard as he could. She jerked back in surprise. "Hey, you weren't gonna let go. I gotta fight dirty," he told her. He was grinning, though.

"Just _you_ wait," she said, playfully. "I'm gonna make you learn a lesson."

"That is the scariest thing you have ever said," Butch muttered. "Jesus _Christ,_ Clara."

She didn't reply, just held him tightly again and tried not to fall asleep. Butch wouldn't be able to get away if she was holding him and passed out. ...But maybe she didn't want him to. She grinned.

"You did good, though," he added, ruffling her hair. "Even if it was _totally_ lucky."

"I'm very lucky," she said, and sighed. "Let's just... Let's just stay here for a while."

"I'm down with that." He made a face. "But you need a damn bath. C'mon, nosebleed."

As they walked through the hallways toward the hotel, Clara smiled to herself and looked at the back of his head, letting him lead.

"Sometimes it's okay if you want to tell me what to do," she said, softly. "It makes me happy."

"Yeah, whatever, nosebleed. Walk faster, you _stink."_

Clara picked up her feet and fairly skipped along beside Butch, and smiled the biggest smile she'd had in a long time. She had a feeling... it was all gonna be _okay,_ from now on. With Butch here and Mister Burke gone... And Clara was in charge? She grinned.

"Don't call me that. I'm not _nosebleed._ I'm Clara."


End file.
